Sam I Will Be
by Lennelle
Summary: The five remaining special children are free, the Winchesters have domesticated and Sam is getting better, but demons walk the earth and a man with yellow eyes is looking for a leader. 'Sam I Am' sequel. ON INDEFINITE HAITUS
1. Unexpected Visitors

Okay, I'm back with the sequel... er, author's note at the end. I'll just let you get on with it.

Oh, and please read Sam I Am first if you haven't.

* * *

 _March 6_ _th_ _2003_

On the outskirts of a small town in Northern California there was a vast stretch of wood, the edges of which hid an old, abandoned church. The church had been left to nature, roots buried themselves in the graveyard to keep the dead company, vines broke through fragile stained-glass windows and hooked themselves around the rafters, like nooses.

Part of the roof was worn away, right where the altar used to be, letting fire smoke drift upwards and out into the night.

The church had gone to ruin years ago but it was not nature that had pulled apart the pews and stacked them for firewood on the stone floor altar. A young girl, recently of twenty-years-old, was lounging against a pile of velvety red church cushions next to her make-shift camp fire. She was only a little less ragged than the church itself, her boots were battered and muddy, her hair was unkempt and cropped short, but her clothes were layered and practical, mismatched and clearly stolen.

She held a knife in her hand, rested it on her stomach, as she used her other arm to tend to the meal she was cooking over the fire; a rabbit that she'd caught, gutted and skinned by herself.

Ava Wilson had learned to survive long ago.

Once, her survival had relied on conformity, to be the best of the best. However, no matter how hard she had tried, there had always been another who was favoured, even one who had lost his mind trying to keep her safe and she couldn't help but resent him for that. She hated him even more for sending that place up in flames right when she'd finally become the best.

Then, she'd had nowhere to go.

She'd thought about going back home to Florida, to find her mother, to be who she was before, but when she'd gotten a glimpse of her mom unloading groceries like any other day, like Ava had never disappeared, she'd turned tail and run, deciding that things would never be the way they were, that it would be better if she were on her own.

And that's how she'd been since she was eighteen years old, travelling across the country to take down any monster she caught wind of. After all, that was what she'd been trained for. That was what she was good at now. She was a hunter.

She was a _good_ hunter. You see, Ava had certain gifts, and with two years on her own she'd had the opportunity to expand those gifts. She could see the future, even better, she could _choose_ when to see the future. Visions didn't spring up on her anymore, she just had to concentrate and it would come to her. Though, she never had a say in what she saw, but that's what made things interesting. She never knew where she'd end up.

She could do other things, too. Things like summon demons, even control them. It was a skill she kept to herself, a secret weapon. It was because of this skill that she knew she wasn't alone anymore before she'd even looked up, and she knew that her visitor was not human.

"What do you want?" she demanded, raising her eyes to the dark silhouette in the open doorway.

"You're a hard one to find, Miss Wilson," a man's voice answered, ignoring her question. He took steps forward, moving casually, hands in his pockets, footsteps echoing throughout the church. Ava was not stupid enough to admit to herself that she wasn't afraid, but it was hard to erase two years' worth of people forcing her to believe that fear was a weakness. She gripped the knife in her hand tightly.

"Well," she said, "You found me."

The man's eyes were yellow. She'd seen that from the shadows, two bright, fiery eyes peering at her unblinkingly. He stepped into the camp fire's light, revealing a young, handsome face and a dazzling smile that looked like it had been taken from someone else.

"I found you," he agreed. He stopped before the altar, not stepping up onto the stage, even so, down there he still felt so much taller than her. He glanced down at the knife in her hand. "That won't be of any use."

"I know," she admitted, "You're a powerful demon. I can tell."

"You're a clever girl," he praised, mouth stretching wider over his teeth into a Cheshire grin. "But not quite clever enough. The knife won't work because I'm not really here. Not physically, at least."

She frowned for a moment before sighing a little in frustration. She shouldn't have been so slow. She sat up and set her knife down on the ground.

"I'm dreaming," she realised. The yellow-eyed man nodded.

"I thought it would be more private this way," he explained, still not moving a muscle. "After all, even the walls have ears."

Her gaze flitted around the room on instinct, then quickly back to him.

"I know you," she finally said. The man cocked his head to the side, still smiling, and said, "Oh?"

"You're the reason we're like this," she went on, "You made us into monsters."

He grinned even wider, if it was possible. "I didn't make you into anything," he told her, "The goods were already in the bag, I just made sure they _good enough_. I was planting my flag, you could say. So everyone else knows it's not theirs for the taking. Though… some people didn't get the message."

"What do you want?" she repeated her earlier question.

"I want to talk," he said vaguely.

Ava was quickly losing her patience. "About what?" she growled.

"Ava," he said softly, "You're my favourite. I want you to win."

That had her attention. "Win what?" she asked suspiciously.

"There's a little game coming up," he said, clearly choosing his words wisely, "Some old friends of yours will be there and there can only be one winner."

Ava understood. Everything had been life-or-death for her for a long time. She was a survivor.

"And it'll be me," she said surely.

"I don't doubt it," he replied, "I just wanted to give you a heads up. Maybe you can get yourself ready… keep those muscles toned."

She eyed him for a moment, the wide smile and empty yellow eyes. "I assume that my life isn't the only thing I win in this game?" she asked.

Yellow-eyes chuckled. "Smart girl," he muttered. "You'll live, and you'll get the thing that I know you desire the most."

Ava raised an eyebrow. "Which is?" she prompted.

"Power," he purred. "I know you have a hunger for it right down to your bones. It's in your blood, thanks to me."

Ava snorted. "I have power."

The creature blinked at her for the first time and glanced around the crumbling church. "You call this power?"

"I don't need anything," she argued, "Just my mind. I have talent."

"That you do," Yellow-eyes agreed, "But so do four other little hopefuls. Are you better than them?"

"Yes." She didn't miss a beat. The demon narrowed his eyes.

"You don't feel anything for them?" he asked, "The others?"

"That doesn't matter," she snapped, "I doesn't matter what I feel. It never did."

She realised she was standing, towering above Yellow-eyes on the stage with her fists balled up. She forced herself to relax a little.

"Learn to keep that temper in check," he advised.

She finally asked what had been on her mind throughout the entire conversation. "Why are you telling me this?"

Yellow-eyes stopped smiling, pursing his borrowed lips thoughtfully. "Well, like I said. You're my favourite."

She scoffed. "I don't know if I believe that you can have a favourite. Do you even feel anything?"

His eyes glinted. "Do you?" he retorted. She couldn't find an answer. He sighed. "I'll be honest with you. It's in _my_ best interest to have the best of the best. Whether that's you is... up to you."

"This game," she said, "I assume I don't get a say in whether or not I play."

"I'm afraid not."

"Then I'll win."

The Cheshire cat smile came back. "Good for you, kiddo. Keep that fire in your belly. You'll need it."

He turned on his heel, walking with same ease he had entered with. He paused by the door.

"Sweet dreams," he called, "I'll be seeing you."

Ava woke in a cold sweat and a prickle on her skin. The fire had died down to embers and the sun was rising. She packed up and tried to see her future, get a glimpse at this game she was supposed to play, only to find nothing. She grabbed her knife and flipped it in her grip. She was going to be ready. She had work to do.

* * *

 _February 28_ _th_ _2003_

The girl who had entered the book store thirteen minutes ago had been sitting on the floor by _Classics_ with a copy of Mary Shelley's _Frankenstein_ for the past four minutes. Sam Winchester had been stacking books on the highest shelf of _Biographies_ when she'd entered, the door jingling her announcement, and had been staring at her ever since like she was something completely foreign.

His arm was aching, still stuck in the action of placing a President's biography on the shelf, his duty was completely neglected in favour of looking at this girl. He barely noticed the box of books slipping from his grip in his other arm.

Sam lived in a small town, he knew just about every person in it, and he knew that this girl was not a local. He also knew that she was beautiful and the long-neglected teenager inside of him was fluttering at the sight of her. Sam had, after all, been cruelly robbed of his awkward teenage years.

He couldn't help but stare at her soft brown curls, knotted loosely at the top of her head, her brilliantly blue eyes that twinkled even when she was looking down, scanning the pages. She was pretty, and Sam couldn't help his heart beating in his chest like it wanted to jump out and say _hello_ to her itself.

He'd been staring, and thinking of a million different ways in which that he could go and speak to her, and then he thought of a million different ways as to how that could go completely wrong. He was far too absorbed in his thoughts, thinking with his 'downstairs brain' as he would have called it if he weren't being so damn pathetic.

"Ehem," the bookshop owner, Eileen who lived down the street, had been watching the whole embarrassing ensemble behind her checkout and she cleared her throat, snatching Sam's attention so harshly that he dropped the book he was holding painfully onto his own head, followed by the box full of them that he just about managed to catch with a joint effort from not only his hands but also his feet. Nevertheless, several books went tumbling onto the carpet.

Sam quickly glanced up to see if the girl had noticed, which she had, of course, and she was trying to stifle a giggle behind the book in her hand. Sam flushed bright red and tried to fumble for the books that were sprawled out over the floor. He was so panicked that his hands shook and he kept dropping them again in his haste.

What was worse was that a smaller hand appeared to help collect them and Sam looked up to come face-to-face with the girl's pitying eyes.

"I'm sorry," she apologised, "Are you okay?"

Sam was stunned into silence; his mouth was moving but there was no sound coming out. _What would Dean do?_ He wondered. First of all, Dean would never have gotten himself into such an awkward situation in the first place.

A cold, wet muzzle nudged at his hand. Clem, who spent her time in the book store behind the counter on an old dog cushion, had heard the commotion and had hurried over to help Sam with whatever bad episode he was having. Only he wasn't having an episode. Not even Clementine could save him from this.

He suddenly noticed that the girl was waiting for an answer and he'd just been staring dumbly at her. In the heat of the moment, Sam ran, clambering into the stock room and wedging himself against the door until the girl went away and hopefully never saw him again.

A minute went by and not even Eileen tried to knock on the door. She was good that way, she knew when to smother and when to give him space. Clem was scratching at the door a little, though, whining at him to come out and show her he was okay. Sam carefully opened the door a fraction to let her in, peeking into the shop as he did. He couldn't see the girl.

Clementine licked his cheek and he scratched behind her ear before daring to go outside. He stepped out, avoiding Eileen's eyes completely.

"I'll… er, finish stacking," he mumbled, trying to step behind a shelf.

"She's gone, Sam," she told him.

Sam groaned. "I scared her away."

Eileen smiled at him sadly. "That's not it, dear. She asked if you were alright."

"I'm fine," he answered quickly, "It's not anything… like that. I just got distracted and I got a shock."

"Girls aren't as scary as you think, dear," Eileen said knowingly.

Sam hummed his disagreement. "I knew a lily and a little bird once and they were plenty to be scared of."

Eileen didn't reply, she didn't understand half of what he said, so she quickly said something else. "Oh, look. She left her purse," she pointed down to the beaded thing on the counter, "If you hurry you can catch up with her."

Sam really hoped the girl had skipped town by now.

"Maybe you should go," he offered, "I'll finish this."

"Not with my hip," Eileen scowled, but there was mischief in her eye, "I couldn't possibly. You would do an old woman a favour? In fact, you can have the rest of the day off."

"But – "

"No _buts_ ," she snapped, "Go give her back her purse like a proper gentleman."

She had already shuffled over to him and was shoving the tiny coin purse into his hand, gently pushing him in the direction of the door. Sam sighed and grabbed his leash from the hook by the door.

"Come on, girl," he called. Clem bounced over, happy to be going out, and he latched the lead onto her collar and headed out the door with the purse held gently in his palm

The street was quiet just after lunchtime and he quickly spotted the girl exiting the bakery down the road with a puzzled look on her face as she rummaged through her rucksack. Clem was already yanking him in that direction, she knew where the local park was, and almost pulled him past the girl if Sam hadn't forced himself to stop.

The girl blinked up at him. "Oh," she exclaimed, "Hello again."

"Um… hi," he mumbled and held out the purse, "You left this in the shop."

She took it gratefully, her fingers brushed his as she did and Sam couldn't help but yank his hand back to keep her from seeing them tremble.

"I'm Rachel," she finally said, smiling.

"Hi, Rachel," Sam answered, then quickly added, "I'm Sam."

"Nice to meet you, Sam," she grinned, then glanced down at the dog, "Who's this?"

"Uh… this is Clem," he half-stuttered, "She's my dog."

"I'd guessed that," Rachel laughed and Sam felt his heart sink into his stomach. Rachel must have noticed too because she quickly said, "I mean, you seem good with her. Close. Er… now I'm being awkward… not that you were being awkward!"

"I was," Sam admitted, he scratched the back of his head nervously when a small silence followed.

"Are you finished work?" Rachel asked, glancing down the street to the book store.

"Yeah," Sam said, and quietly muttered to himself, "Apparently."

"Well, where are you headed now?"

Sam glanced down at Clem who was still tugging in one direction. "I think the park," he said.

"I'll come with you," Rachel beamed, "I mean, I don't really know anyone in this town and I think I'm staying for a while."

Sam's limited social skills prevented him from coming up with a good way to respond so he just nodded and let Clem pull him onwards. Rachel jogged a little to catch up.

"You're not much of a talker, are you?"

"I suppose not," Sam shrugged. It was the talking in his head that was the problem. Not that he'd tell Rachel that. Despite his unintentional rudeness, she seemed oddly interested in him, staring up at him the way he'd stared at her in the book store. He glanced down at her, surprised that she didn't look away. Just smiled.

She had lipstick on, a subtle red, but that seemed to be the only makeup she was wearing. And Sam should have been watching where he was going because he would have tumbled over an old fire hydrant if Rachel hadn't jerked him out of the way.

"Watch it," she warned. Sam quickly locked his eyes ahead, finding himself wishing that she would change her mind and leave. It seemed that he wouldn't be so lucky as she followed him all the way to the park and even sat next to him on the bench when he let Clem off her leash to go bound about the grass.

He glanced again, almost to check if she was still there.

"Why are you still here?" he asked. Her smiled dropped and he quickly fumbled for better words. "Not that I don't want you to be… bee. No, I mean. Why are you here… with me? I'm not. I'm not…"

There were a lot of words for what Sam wasn't so he decided to go with broadest one.

"I'm not good."

Rachel actually smiled. "What, you got some bodies buried in your back yard?"

Sam's eyes widened. "No! No, nothing like…" he drifted off, realising she was only kidding, "Oh."

"What then? Are you a bad boy around town? Not the sort for a good girl like me to get involved with?"

Sam choked a little on the sudden realisation that she was flirting with him.

"What is it then?" she demanded.

"People stay away from me," Sam said quietly, "Because I'm not normal. I'm…"

"A freak?" Rachel supplied. Sam nodded. "Well, good."

Sam was a little surprised by that and he looked back up at her. She smiled softly.

"All the best people are freaks," she said surely, "God forbid you were _normal_."

"I don't think – "

He didn't manage to tell her what he didn't think because she shut him up by pressing her lips to his. Sam tensed up, eyes wide, before he melted into it. This was the second girl he'd ever kissed and he was determined it wouldn't be a disaster like the first.

It was over before he knew it and he was left in a slight daze, mouth still open and completely speechless, yet again.

"I'll be seeing you," she promised. She was walking away before Sam could even process what had happened.

He was still trying to figure it out on the way home and he stumbled into the kitchen with a completely puzzled expression on his face which must have sent Dean's worry up a notch. His brother was waiting at the kitchen table, as he did every time Sam went out on his own.

"What happened?" he asked, already checking Sam over, he frowned at him. "Is that lipstick?"

Sam absently wiped his fingers over his lips, seeing that they came away tinted red. He couldn't help but smile.

"I had a weird day."

Dean was still staring at him like he was crazy, well, _crazier_ than usual. Sam's face was completely overtaken by a grin that was created by the fluttering in his stomach. For the first time in a long time he felt normal. He felt like a freak.

Because all the best people are freaks, apparently.

* * *

A/N Oh my goodness! Can you believe the sequel is actually here? I had a whole story in my head but I completely scrapped it and suddenly last night I was hit with some ideas. I know the direction this is going; I even have the penultimate chapter tucked away in my head.

This won't follow the same back-and-forth layout as the first story, it just won't work that way but there will be dates, make sure you check them. For those of you who like to read between the lines, there is plenty hiding in this first chapter so speculate away.

About the reader's prompts: no more please. I have plenty to do at the moment and I won't take any more. I might open them in the future again. As for anyone who made a request before this post I will write it. Promise.

Anyway, I'm so excited to finally write this and I hope you enjoy reading it. Please leave a review and thank you for reading.


	2. Imaginary Girlfriend

_March 6_ _th_ _2003_

There was something far darker inside Lily than her fair complexion and silvery hair would have you believe. She knew death like the back of her hand. The tips of her fingers could stop a person's heart and it would be more than likely that Lily hadn't meant to do it. After all, the streets were crowded places and more than once recently in New York city a pedestrian had dropped dead for seemingly no reason at all.

For such a pretty girl she was awfully sad.

Monsters were lonely creatures, Lily had learned, and she wondered if that was what usually led them stomp on towns or carry pretty women up skyscrapers. If only to receive some attention, even if it was bad.

How long would it be before she did the same?

Lily had to remind herself constantly that it was better to be lonely than it was to be a murderer. She couldn't have intimacy ever again. For these reasons Lily had hidden herself away, under New York. It worked; she was far from anyone she knew, she could keep hidden in the subway tunnels and easily get around through their routes. There were enough places to eat and therefore plenty of places to steal from. And best of all; the constant hustle and bustle of the city upstairs made her feel a little less alone.

She had eaten hotdogs that night, plucked them from a street vendor when they weren't looking. And now she was curled up in a nook underground, wrapped in a blanket a rich woman had given to her, telling her _take care, dear_.

Things worked but she couldn't help but wish to be home. She wished she could be with her parents again, her little brother. But she could never go back. She could never see them again. Not without the risk of killing them.

Thoughts of a better life followed her into sleep.

She was in her back yard. It was bright and green, the grass was soft beneath her feet and the skies were clear above her head. She looked down to the dark purple dress she was wearing, not the kind of party dress her mom would have liked but the kind she saw on the punk girls from her high school.

There were people everywhere; neighbours and relatives mingling over burgers and hot dogs and cold beers. She could see the younger kids splashing about in the pool and it made her wonder where her brother was.

"I'm here," he was standing at her side like he'd been there the whole time. He beamed up at her, floppy blonde curls dipping over his eyes. She reached out and brushed them away.

"Hey," she whispered.

He didn't stop smiling, showing that dorky little gap between his teeth. He was short for his age, and skinny too. The last time she had seen him was when he was only ten years old. He shouldn't look like this, he should look older, he was meant to be fifteen years old. The same age she was when she was taken away.

"I'm glad you're back," he told her.

Lily frowned. "I'm not back."

"Of course you are," he giggled, "How are you here then?"

"I don't know…" she said, but he was already running off, clad in swim shorts that he hadn't been wearing a second ago. He cannonballed into the pool, disappearing without a splash, and Lily felt herself panic a little when the garden seemed to stretch longer, the pool pulling further away. She tried to go after him but someone grabbed her arm.

"Lily," her mother said, turning her around, "Lily, you're my favourite."

Lily tried to yank her arm away, frightened by her mother's stretched out smile.

"Your favourite what?" Lily asked, still peeking over her shoulder in the direction her brother had run. There was no pool anymore.

"You're my favourite," her mother said again, "The best of all of your brothers and sisters."

Lily dared to turn back. Her mother's eyes were yellow.

"Who are you?"

"A friend," her not-mother said simply, pulling her towards the house. Looking around, Lily noticed that all of the guests were gone. She was pushed into an armchair in the lounge, the one her father usually sat in, while the yellow-eyed thing with her mother's face sat on the couch opposite.

"You have some pitiful circumstances, my girl," it said, "You have so much _power_ … but you choose to be a street rat?"

Lily squirmed a little in the chair, feeling completely uncomfortable. "It's safer that way," she said, "No one will get hurt."

The thing barked a laugh. "You're protecting _them_? Humanity?" it asked, "What have they ever done for you?"

Lily thought of the rich woman who gave her the blanket but she didn't answer, too frightened of the yellow eyes that stared at her.

"Lily, you could be so much more," it said.

"I don't want to be _more,_ " she snapped, "I don't want to be like this. I want to be like I was before. Normal."

The thing tutted. "You should know by now that nothing is normal."

"What are you?" Lily demanded, "I know you're something. You're powerful."

"I'm a friend," it repeated its earlier statement.

Lily shook her head. "I doubt that."

The thing sighed, flattening down her mother's skirt as it got to its feet. "Well," it said, "I was only going to do you a favour but I suppose you don't want my help."

Lily couldn't deny that it had her attention and she spoke up before it left the room. "What kind of favour?"

Suddenly, her not-mother was sitting in the armchair next to her. "I can tell you how to get what you want."

"And what do I want?"

"I can take this curse away; you just need to use it a little more first."

Lily was torn. "I don't want to use it," she whispered.

"I know you don't, dear," the thing said sympathetically, but Lily knew it wasn't sincere, "But you have _gifts_. More than you know. You can learn to use them."

"How?" she asked curiously.

"It's in there," the thing gestured to her head, "You just need to find them, then you need to use them."

"What for?"

The thing grinned wider. "There's going to be a game and you're going to play."

"And if I don't want to play?"

"Then you lose… and believe me, you don't want to lose."

Lily understood. Life-or-death, then.

"I suppose there are going to be other players," she prompted.

"Old friends of yours," the thing said, "Siblings, you could say."

Ava, Andy, Jake and Sam.

"No," Lily growled, "Not them. I'm not hurting any of them."

They'd all gotten away. They were supposed to be safe now.

"I'm afraid you don't get much choice in the matter," it said, "It's up to you if you win. The prize is quite extraordinary."

"I'm not interested," Lily crossed her arms over her chest.

"Not interested in seeing your family again?" it pouted, "Pity."

"How do I even know if you're telling me the truth?"

"I'm a creature of my word," it crossed its heart, "And I promise that if you win then I will make sure you see your family again _without_ that pesky problem of yours."

"And I just have to play?" She clarified, "I play then I go home and no one else gets hurt?"

"If you _win,_ " the thing said slowly, "Then you get to go home and no one else gets hurt. I promise. You're my favourite, after all."

* * *

 _March 2_ _nd_ _2003_

Dean stirred his coffee slowly. He'd poured it out ten minutes ago and he'd been stirring ever since, letting it go cold. His eyes were on Sam.

His little brother had been acting weird. Well, weirder than usual. The kid had come home a couple of days ago with lipstick all over his mouth and shocked expression slapped over his face. Dean had a strong suspicion of what had happened, what he wanted to know was _how?_ Sam didn't seem to be giving up any details.

"So," Dean said, to fill the silence, but mostly to get Sam's attention.

Sam looked up from the slice of toast he'd been carefully buttering. "Huh?"

"It's your birthday next month," the thought hit Dean just in time, "You want to do anything on your big day?"

Sam looked back down and continued buttering the toast. "What's so special about it?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders.

"Well, you're gonna be 20," Dean pointed out, "That's like official adulthood."

"I don't think it is," Sam replied bluntly.

"Sure it is," Dean brushed Sam's words away with a scoff, "You'll officially be out of your teen years."

Sam shrugged again. "I'm not bothered."

Dean scowled into his mug. Sam was obviously being a moody bitch. Why should Dean bother trying to fix whatever had his brother's panties in a twist. He spared a glance across the table. Sam was still buttering his toast, an expression of mixed confusion and disappointment on his face. Dean sighed.

"Girl trouble?" he asked. Sam looked up again, finally dropping his knife.

"How did you know?" he demanded.

"Dude," Dean smirked, "You really expect me not to know where that lipstick all over your face came from? Why didn't you tell me about it?"

Sam rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, but Dean noticed the ticks he was trying to hide. "It's nothing. I don't even know her. She just turned up in the book store and she wouldn't leave me alone."

"And she kissed you?" Dean prompted, waggling his eyebrows.

Sam's cheeks flushed red. "It was a little… she just did it; you know? I had no idea what was going on. Then she was just gone."

Before Dean could say anything, Sam was on his feet, opening the cupboards to turn the labels on the packets and cans to face the front.

"Sam," Dean got his brother's attention, "Why are you so stressed?"

Sam adjusted a tin of tuna about a centimetre to the right before closing the cupboard. He looked like he was about the take a seat but he ended up pacing back and forth behind it.

"I don't get it," Sam blurted, is fingers were wiggling a little, like he was counting, "She didn't make any sense to me. There was no… routine. It was just all surprising. I don't get her. And then she disappears? I haven't seen her since; I try to find her when I'm walking Clem but she isn't there. I'm starting to wonder… what if she was never there?"

"What?" Dean was a little taken aback.

"I mean," Sam paused. He was all tense, fingers working, one hand made it up to the side of his head, where Dean knew a surgical scar was hidden underneath that mop of hair. Sam clenched at the strands. "What if," he went on, taking a strained breath, "I made her up? Like Faceless."

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. "You haven't seen him in months, Sam."

"I know," Sam sounded close to yelling, like he did when he was particularly stressed, "But what if I made up someone else. How come she just disappeared?"

Dean got to his feet, rounding the table and he gently pulled Sam's hand back to his side. "Sammy, calm down," he said, smiling, "I saw the lipstick, I'm pretty sure she was real."

"Then why did she like me?" Sam blurted. He froze a little. Obviously, he hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"Why wouldn't she?" Dean countered, "I mean, sure, she didn't go for the better Winchester brother, but the one she did go for isn't too bad."

He squeezed Sam's shoulder. Sam avoided his eye.

"Is there a reason you're doubting yourself so much?" Dean asked, "You know, if something isn't right in that brain of yours you have to tell me or dad?

"I know," Sam assured him, "Everything's fine. Except…"

"Except for this mysterious girl," Dean finished, "Hey, how about next time you see her I come with you? That way someone can tell you if she's really there."

Sam nodded, still staring at the ground. "If we can find her."

Dean shrugged casually. "She'll be around. But if she skipped town on you then she must be insane."

"We would have made a great couple," Sam remarked with a small smile, earning a small chuckle out of Dean. He kept his hand on Sam's shoulder for a moment longer before stepping away.

"I gotta get to work," he said, "I'll meet you on my lunch break and we can go on a girl hunt."

Sam scoffed. "A girl hunt?" he repeated, eyebrow raised.

Dean slung his work bag over his shoulder and shrugged. "Well, it's been a while since we left the life. About time we got back into it?" he joked, winking. Sam punched him lightly in the arm.

"You're such a loser," he said.

"Takes one to know one," Dean snapped back playfully, heading to the door. He stopped halfway out, "I'll call you at lunch. Don't think too much."

And he shut the door behind him, trying to push down the worry that was telling him that Sam might be right.

* * *

Sam spent his day waiting. He only had to go to the book store on weekends and he was on study-leave from school in preparation for his final exams. He should be studying but it was hard to take in any of the words in his textbooks when his mind was having a dozen different thoughts at once.

He tried to occupy himself by organising the kitchen cupboards, again. Then arranging the bathroom cabinet by bottle size, then colour. He sat on the edge of his bath, wondering if he ought to rearrange the bottles into size order again, when the phone rang.

Sam grabbed it off the hook. "Hello?" he answered, already heading back to the bathroom to decide how to organise the cabinet. Clementine trotted after him and sat at his feet as he took all the bottles back out.

"Hey, Sammy!" Dean greeted on the other end, "So I just got off work and I've got an hour and half before my shift starts at the grocery store. What do you say we look for this girl of yours?"

"Rachel," Sam corrected, deciding on size order, he began putting the bottles back in place.

"Rachel," Dean said the name slowly, "So, what do you say?"

"I say okay."

"Cool. Are you at home?"

"Mm-hmm," Sam wished Dean would be quiet for a moment so he could concentrate.

"I'll swing by to get you and that furry sidekick of yours," Dean went on, "Oh, Dad called. He said he'd be home tonight."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Sure."

"He will," Dean insisted, sighing audibly, "I'm on my way. See ya."

Sam hung up without a word. He wanted to get back to working on the cabinet. He stopped when his fingers wrapped around a bottle of sleeping pills. He'd been prescribed them a while ago but he'd stopped taking them in favour of some that weren't as strong. Sam rattled them in his hand.

 _You could just take the whole bottle._

The thought popped out of nowhere. Sam gripped the bottle tighter, closing his eyes, it was hard to ignore a thought like this. They liked to cling to his brain, it seemed.

 _It would be that easy_.

It _would_ be that easy, Sam knew, but he didn't want to do it. That wasn't what this was. He'd not seen Faceless in a long time, he hadn't wanted to hurt himself in a long time, but there was still a part of his mind that liked to wonder just how far it could go. Once, he had been working on a project for school with one of the girls in his class. She was a little older than him and she had a little boy, she was coming back to finish her high school diploma, just like him. She was cutting and Sam was gluing, as he'd insisted. For a split second she'd put the scissors down to look for something in her bag and Sam had imagined himself picking them up and slicing off her ponytail.

He hadn't done it.

He had forced himself to grip the scissors for five seconds before putting them back. It was a trick his therapist had taught him for whenever he had the urge to do something he didn't want to do. Prove to himself that he could say no.

The point was, Sam had bits of himself that he didn't feel he had control of. No matter how much he'd improved over the past two years he was still struggling.

Sam closed his eyes again and counted to five before placing the bottle of pills back onto the shelf. He closed the cabinet door and smiled at his reflection in the mirror. Clem was wagging her tail with what Sam decided was approval. He bent down and rubbed her back, she licked his cheek.

He got to his feet when he heard the front door open and walked into the hallway to find Dean dumping dirty overalls onto the back of a kitchen chair.

"Hey," Dean said when he noticed him, "Want to get some food and look for your girlfriend."

"First of all, she isn't my girlfriend and she might not even be real," Sam pointed out, "Secondly, I'm starving. Let's go."

Dean opened the door wide, allowing Sam to go first, tossing him the leash as Clem followed behind. Sam latched it onto her collar and they headed down the road towards the main street.

"Anything else you want to tell me about your mystery girl?" Dean asked, nudging him in the shoulder.

Sam sighed. "Dean, I didn't want to tell you because I wasn't sure if it had really happened. I was scared, okay?"

"We're going to prove you wrong," Dean said surely, though Sam could _feel_ that Dean's words weren't completely sincere.

"You know you can't lie to me," he pointed out.

Dean blinked at him. "What…" he started to say but he paused and realisation dawned on his face, "But I thought you were managing the empathy thing."

"I am," Sam promised, "But it's harder when I'm nervous."

Dean's nose twitched a little and Sam wondered just how much the psychic abilities freaked him out. "Okay," Dean finally said, "But you haven't had any visions?"

"No visions," Sam assured, "Not since…"

 _Not since I thought I watched you die every night._

Sam didn't like to think about that night at the Institution. The last time he saw Ava, Andy, Jake and Lily. The night Jake had slashed Dean's side. The night Sam had gotten his revenge. He still dreamed about what he did to them, he regretted it every day. Now, he knew he was going to Hell.

"Well, that's good," Dean said happily, he stopped outside the deli, "You stay out here with the mutt and I'll get some food. The usual?"

Sam nodded and watched him disappear inside, joining the long queue. Sam leaned against the brick wall of the building, fiddling with the lead as Clem parked herself dutifully at his side, scanning everyone who walked by.

Some people waved at him or said _hello_ to him as they passed, mostly out of pity or curtesy, Sam thought, since they all knew he wasn't quite right in the head. He nodded back now and then but mostly kept quiet, thinking about what he might say to Rachel if he saw her again.

 _How about 'hello'?_

 _Or you could ask her where she's from, what she's doing, how she is?_

 _Or you could ask if someone asked her to kiss you as a joke. That's probably why it happened. Why would anyone want to kiss you? You're a freak and a murderer._

"Shut up," Sam mumbled quietly.

"What?" a soft voice came from his right and Sam recognised it straight away. He hopped away from the wall a little, coming face-to-face with Rachel. She was frowning at him, looking a little concerned.

"Huh?" Sam couldn't find any words.

"I think you were talking to yourself," she said, a gentle smile spreading across her face when Sam blanched, "Don't worry. I talk to myself all the time. Not in an I-hear-voices kind of way, though. I'm not a nut-job."

She chuckled nervously before looking up at him like she was waiting for him to speak. Sam couldn't get a word out. He could only stare, like he'd done in the book store the other day. He'd been so unsure if their encounter had even happened but here she was; looking very much real.

She had to be real.

Sam glanced into the deli, desperate to find Dean, who was finally at the front of the line.

"Sam?" Rachel called him back to her, "Are you okay?"

Sam just nodded.

"You look a little freaked," she said slowly, then bit her lip, "It's me, isn't it? I came on too strong. I do that sometimes, sorry. It's just that I actually like you. And maybe that's weird because I met you two days ago but I think you're cute… oh God. I'm rambling…"

Sam still couldn't get a word out but his mouth was opening and closing like a freaking fish. His heart leapt when Dean stepped out of the store and caught his eye. He looked between Sam and Rachel, a huge grin making its way onto his face.

"Who's your friend, Sammy?" he asked, moving over to stand at Sam's side.

When Sam didn't answer, Rachel did, shaking Dean's hand.

"Rachel, huh?" Dean said smugly, relief coming off him in waves. Sam wasn't sure he felt the same way, he was beginning to wonder if it would be easier if she was just a figment of his imagination. He knew how to deal with voices in his head better than real people. At least, he thought he did.

When it was obvious that Sam wasn't going to say anything Rachel began asking Dean questions. Normal things like where he worked and how long they'd lived in town. Sam gripped Clem's leash tighter when she tried to move toward Rachel, nose twitching as she sniffed the air, ears perked up. He pulled her a little in the opposite direction.

"Sorrywehavetogo," he mumbled in one word, already heading back towards home. Dean frowned but quickly apologised to Rachel and bid her farewell before jogging to catch up with Sam.

"What is with you?" Dean demanded.

Sam shook his head jerkily. "I can't… not right. I-I, I don't," he forced out between heavy breaths. He hadn't noticed that he'd picked up into a run.

"Sam?" Dean called, hurrying after him. Clem bounded ahead, pulling Sam along, seeming like she was pleased as punch to go running. Sam made it to their front door and fumbled with his key, ignoring Dean once he'd caught up, and pushing into the house. He dropped the leash and hurried to his room, shutting the door behind himself before shuffling under the bed.

He watched the door open and Clem and Dean's feet walked in.

"Sam, talk to me," Dean begged, "I don't know what's going on."

Sam didn't answer, just curled up as small as he could. After a moment, Dean sighed and left the room, closing the door on his way out.

Sam tried hard not to think about the bottle in the cupboard. He tried hard not to think about how rotten he was to his core. He tried not to think about how selfish he'd been by even considering to pursue Rachel and infect her with every black tarry thing he had had inside of him. How could he have even thought about holding her hands with the same hands that had murdered people?

He tried hard not to think about a lot of things for several hours before he finally fell asleep, not long before John Winchester's truck pulled into the driveway.

* * *

Dean watched his father take a long swig of whiskey, downing the entire of the glass' contents. Neither of them had said a word but he suspected that he wasn't the only one trying to process what John had just said.

He cleared his throat. "You're sure?"

John just nodded, staring into the empty glass.

Dean glanced over to Sam's bedroom door at the end of the hall then back to his father. "What about Sam?"

John sighed tiredly. "I don't know."

Dean bit the inside of his cheek and clenched his fists, trying hard to push his anger down. "Dad, you told us that you were just helping out on a hunt. How could you have come across this information? Did you go looking for answers? Was that what you were really doing? Because I'd thought we'd left this behind."

"We did," John insisted, "And I was just helping on a hunt. But I've asked people to keep their eyes and ears open, just in case, and I got a call. Some of them are still out there."

"Are they coming for him?" Dean nodded towards Sam's bedroom door.

"I don't know," John said, "It doesn't seem like it though. To me, it seems like the ones that are left are running."

"From what?"

"I don't know," John said again. Dean groaned.

"I'm getting sick of your need-to-know crap," he hissed, "You owe us the truth, especially Sam."

John glared at him. "I can't be sure of anything. I'm not telling him anything that I don't know for sure."

"But you know for sure that the bastards that messed him up aren't all gone," Dean growled, "And now you know where one of them is and you're going for information."

"I need to know why," John barked, but he quickly lowered his voice, "And I need to know exactly what happened because Sam will never tell us. You know that."

Dean clenched his teeth as he thought. As angry as he was he understood why his dad needed to find answers, so did Dean. He needed to know exactly what had happened to Sam, even if he didn't want to. He uncrossed his arms and took a seat opposite.

"Where are they?" he asked.

John blinked at him, surprised. "About five hours out," he told him, "I could be done in under two days."

Dean nodded. "I think you should go," he decided, he held up a hand before John could say anything more, "But I think I should go with you."

"I can handle it on my own," John said.

"I know. But I don't trust you to tell me what you find."

A few years ago, Dean would never have spoken to his father this way. John would have never allowed him to. Things were different now.

"What about Sam?" John pointed out, "He can't stay here by himself."

"We know plenty of people who can be trusted with him. Call someone in to watch out for him."

John nodded. "Okay, then."

* * *

Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this one too.


	3. Hallowed Ground

_March 6_ _th_ _2003_

Jake Tally didn't sleep well. He hadn't in a long time. He went to bed each night with a knife under his pillow and one eye open. He needed to, especially now that he had his family to look after.

He could see how it frightened his sister. She could see how he'd changed. She never looked him in the eye. But that was okay. As long as Jake could keep them safe, that was all that mattered.

His Mama was peeling potatoes, his sister was doing homework, Jake was sitting quietly, keeping watch. Now and then the two of them would steal glances at him, lightening quick, but Jake always noticed. Neither of them said a word, the kitchen was filled with sounds of a knife slicing of potato skins and a pen scratching on paper.

The scratching stopped and Jake looked over to see his sister staring at her paper in puzzlement.

He cleared his throat. "Are you stuck?" he asked. His sister flinched a little, she hid it well, made it look like she was just shifting in her seat, but Jake always noticed. She quickly put her pen back to paper, almost unconsciously.

"I'm okay," she said quietly. She never used to be quiet, especially not around him.

"Really," Jake pushed it, he wanted so badly to just talk to her like he used to, "I can help. No problem."

"I'm okay," she said again, dropping her head, focusing too intensely on her work.

Jake took a deep breath. It wouldn't help to get angry right now. He stood up, the chair scraped noisily on the linoleum flooring and he clenched his teeth together, hard.

"I'm getting some air," he announced, turning to the back door before anyone could say a word.

He went straight for the thick oak tree in their back yard and swung his fist. A huge chunk of bark was smashed away, leaving a dent in the trunk. He looked down to his knuckles, they were untouched, unblemished.

"What did that tree ever do to you?" his Mama's voice came from behind. Jake turned to find her standing with her arms crossed over her cooking apron.

He dropped his shoulders. "I'm sorry," he apologised, "I didn't mean to…"

His Mama sighed, lips pursing like they did when she was sad and wouldn't let anyone see her cry. Mama was strong like that. Stronger than Jake would ever be.

"I know you didn't," she said, making her way over to him, she reached up and placed a warm hand on his shoulder. He leaned into her arms, letting himself feel vulnerable for the first time in a long time. His mother let out a long sigh and whispered by his ear, "You're my favourite."

Jake jerked away, his mother frowned at him, puzzled. But Jake could only focus on the bright yellow eyes staring at him.

"What have you done to my Mom?" he asked, his voice was a fearful whisper.

"Don't worry, son. Your mom and sister are safely sleeping in their beds," the thing said. Jake didn't say a word, his tongue felt thick and useless in his mouth.

"I'll change if you like," it offered, "I can see you're having trouble speaking to me in this shape."

It stepped around, Jake stepped back, they circled each other. Before his eyes the creature twisted and melted away, his mother's face was gone, and then he was staring at a shadowy man with those same bright yellow eyes.

"Is that better?" it asked. All Jake could do was nod.

The thing smiled, pleased. "We have some business to get around to," it went on, looking him up and down, "And I can tell you're not a man for nonsense so I'll just get to it."

Words still wouldn't come. The creature seemed to find it amusing, Jake could see the curl of its lips even on the shadowy face.

"You're my favourite, Jake, my strong man," it purred, "And there's a little competition coming up. Best man wins. And I wanted to give you a little heads up because I'd like for you to win."

Jake swallowed hard, managing to find his voice. "A competition? Against who?"

"Old friends of yours," it said, grinning wider, "Ava, Lily, Andy and psycho Sam. Remember them?"

"You want me to kill them?" Jake realised, "No. I won't do it."

"Okay," the creature surrendered, shrugging in disappointment, "Then you'll die. Which would be a shame, wouldn't it? Who would be there to look after your family?"

Jake felt every inch of him freeze. He dared to look the creature in the eye. "What?"

"I'm just saying, if you're rotten meat then who'll stop me from strangling your baby sister with her own intestines?"

Jake took a step forward. "You keep away from her."

"I will, calm down, alright?" it threw its hands up, still grinning, "I'm just saying that there's a way we can keep that from happening, you got it?"

"I have to kill the others," Jake said, it hurt to even think about. But there were more painful things. He took a deep breath and looked back to the creature, "I will. If that's what it takes."

That awful grin stretched impossibly wider. "Good man," it praised.

"So," Jake clarified, "If I kill the others, my family will be safe?"

"Correct."

"I'll leave right away," Jake promised, but the creature held up a hand to stop him.

"Hold you horses, cowboy," it said, "Nothing has to happen quite yet. There's going to be a stage for this game and you'll be there soon enough. Don't worry about anything but stretching those muscles of yours, get ready for the fight."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, when it's time for you to do your job, you'll know. Don't go running into this quite yet. You've got some time to get ready."

"What's to stop me from doing it now," Jake challenged, "To stop them from suffering through your sick games?"

The thing frowned. "Nothing, I suppose. Free country and all that."

"I get what I have to do," Jake said, getting close to the creature, "But I'm not letting the others suffer. They don't deserve any more suffering."

Those sickly yellow eyes didn't even blink, just stared and grinned at him. "You're the boss."

* * *

 _March 4_ _th_ _2003_

Sam sat on the edge of Dean's bed, watching his brother pack his duffel. He didn't pay much attention to what Dean was saying.

"…And I know that you know when to take your meds but I wrote it all down for Caleb, just in case. I also wrote down the psychiatrist's number, the pharmacy's number and mine and dad's. Then I added on Bobby's just to be safe because you never know what might happen."

He shoved a pair of jeans into the bag. "And I stocked up on dog food so you don't need to worry about that, just take her for walks… but you know what to do in that area so… but Eileen also said she'd cook your dinner tonight so she'll be over with a casserole or something… did I forget anything?"

Sam blinked at him. "Huh?"

"Dude," Dean sighed, "Are you even listening to me?"

"Uh… yeah?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "This is important, Sam. I'm not gonna be here for the next couple of days and I need to know you're gonna be okay."

Sam rolled his eyes that time. "I'm nineteen years old, Dean. I think I'll be okay, even with a babysitter."

"You know what I mean," Dean huffed. Sam nodded, he supposed it must be hard for Dean to leave him, especially with what had happened the last time he'd left Sam alone. However, Sam had a feeling that an evil organisation wouldn't kidnap and brainwash him this time.

"I'll be fine," Sam promised, "Fine, lime, dime."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You're rhyming, dude."

Sam ducked his head. "I'm a little nervous, I guess."

 _Dress, yes, mess._ His lips twitched a little to keep the words in.

Dean dropped down onto the end of the bed next to him and patted his knee. "I know we haven't spent much time apart in a long while but I'll be a phone call away. I'll be back in a couple of days. I promise."

"I know," Sam whispered, fingers twitching a rhythm. _Low, go, no. Don't go._

 _Tap, tap, tap. Tap tap._

"Besides, Clem will keep an eye on things. Won't you, girl?" Dean added, reaching down to pat her back. Clementine lifted her head from where she was resting it on her paws by Sam's feet.

"Joshua must really be struggling with this hunt, huh?" Sam said.

"Yeah," Dean nodded, quickly looking down. Sam frowned. "He's in a real mess. And you know I would stay here if I could. It's just that Caleb's got a busted leg and Bobby's busy so it was just me and dad."

"Yeah, I know," Sam said quietly, but he made an effort to smile at Dean. It wasn't fair to stop Dean from going just because Sam wanted it him to stay, he noticed how much Dean missed hunting. Dean kept the arsenal in his trunk the way it had always been, Sam noticed him checking the paper each morning for any signs of a case. Whenever he found one he always made sure to pass it on to someone else, then he'd head off to work at the grocery store. And so it would go the next day.

But even though Sam usually tried not to _feel_ , he couldn't help but pick up on some of Dean's emotions. Dean wasn't excited, like Sam would expect. Dean was afraid, but it felt crooked, wonky, something wasn't quite right.

"Just…" Sam paused, not exactly sure what he wanted to say so he settled for, "Stay safe."

"I will," Dean promised. He got to his feet and checked his watch before slinging his duffel over his shoulder. Sam followed him out and shut the door behind Clem who trotted after Dean.

Caleb had arrived an hour earlier, left leg bound in a cast as he hobbled through their front door on crutches. "Not a word," had been the first thing he'd said to Dean. Dean didn't, but that didn't stop him from laughing.

John was standing in the kitchen with his bag ready, talking to Caleb who was sitting at the kitchen table with his leg propped up. John smiled at his sons when they entered.

"You ready?" he asked Dean. Sam noticed something flash across his father's face, but he couldn't tell what it was. It had been a long time since either of them had been on a real hunt but Sam didn't expect them to be so worked up about, he wasn't sure why they were putting on a calm front either.

"Yes, sir," Dean answered. Sam couldn't help but grimace at the sound of it. That word hadn't been used in a long time. It sounded unnatural. This whole thing made Sam's insides squirm.

"Let's go, then," John headed for the door but he stopped in front of Sam first. "We'll be back soon."

"I know," Sam sighed, "Dean already gave me the lecture."

John grinned and patted Sam's shoulder. "Well," he blew out a soft breath, "I'll see you in two days."

Sam rolled his eyes, feeling any patience he had leave him in place of suspicion, and he ducked out from under John's palm. "Okay," he huffed, "Just go. I'm not a five-year-old. I'll be fine."

Sam refused to look at either of them but the short silence that followed made it clear that they were surprised by his snappish tone. They didn't speak another word. Sam heard the door latch shut and when he looked up they were gone. It wasn't until then that Sam could decipher their emotions: guilt.

"They're lying to me," Sam said out loud to himself.

"Huh?" Caleb's voice came from the kitchen table. Sam turned to see him looking over with a puzzled look on his face. "You okay, kid?"

Sam didn't answer. He turned and left, shutting his bedroom door securely behind him. He ignored the soft scrape of Clem's paw as she begged to be let in, instead he climbed under his bed, curled up and squeezed his eyes shut as if he might turn invisible.

 _They're lying to me._

* * *

 _Several hours Later…_

Traffic would be a bitch on a day like this, wouldn't it?

They were supposed to be there in five hours, they'd been on the road for seven, and Dean really didn't want to leave Sam a moment longer than he had to. He leaned against the glass of the passenger window of his dad's truck. Even though the engine was smoother and the seats were softer Dean couldn't help but wish for her wheel beneath his hands.

"We're not far," John said, it was the first thing either of them had said anything since John had said the same thing half an hour ago. They hadn't made much progress down the road.

"Maybe it was a bad idea to leave him alone," Dean said. The thought had been on his mind since his dad had told him about his plan to find answers.

"You wanted to come."

Dean resisted the urge to smirk. _Only because I don't trust you to tell me the truth. I need to hear it with my own ears._

John sighed, long and deep, eyes on the car in front. "He'll be okay," he promised. "Caleb is with him."

"Sam doesn't know Caleb," Dean pointed out. "At least not as well as we do. Do you really think he'd tell Caleb if he wasn't feeling right? Think of how long it took for him to tell us what was on his mind."

"He'll be okay," John repeated. He didn't even look at Dean. They spent the rest of the drive in silence.

John hadn't been wrong when he had said they weren't far, once they were off the highway it was a fifteen-minute ride down an overgrown and abandoned road in a wood. Settled in the shadows of the forest was an old wooden cottage that looked like it hadn't seen a soul in years. They had parked the truck a way back when the road became too overgrown to pass through. This way they wouldn't bring attention to their arrival.

"One of them is in there?" Dean clarified, gesturing to the cottage with a nod, his fingers were already curling into fists at his side.

"We'll see," John answered. He led the way over to the shack.

The wood was rotting and hanging off in some places, only darkness could be seen inside. The floorboards creaked beneath their feet and they made slow steps, keeping their weapons ready in their hands. Moss had grown along the railings of the porch and some wild strands of grass peaked up through cracks in the floor. It was very much like a lot of houses Dean had investigated in his hunting career, where lost souls latched on too tight to their past. But this place was haunted by something very different.

"Look," John got his attention and pointed to one of the windows. Dean peered inside and saw that the windowsill had been lined with salt from the inside.

"They're running," Dean said, remembering what his dad had said to him a couple of days earlier, "from demons."

"Looks like," John agreed.

He pushed the door open, stepping in first, swinging his flashlight this way and that before he told Dean it was clear. They checked each room and found nothing but creaky floorboards and lines of salt. Upstairs, Dean glanced out the window. The trees covered most of his view but he still caught glimpses of shaped stone down on the ground, they were worn and crumbling in places, the soil was hard and wild with weeds. Gravestones.

He met John downstairs.

"Nothing down here," John told him, sounding frustrated.

"No one up there," Dean replied. "But there are gravestones out the back. They look old, too."

"Gravestones?"

"Yeah. I reckon a church was built here once," Dean said.

"Hallowed ground," John realised.

Dean nodded. "That's why I think there's someone here, hiding. This is too good of a hiding place to give up."

"Check for trap doors," John ordered, and he headed in the opposite direction.

The way into the cellar was cleverly hidden. They had checked under rugs and felt the wall for loose panels but the door down was hidden behind an old cabinet in the kitchen. Dean had noticed that it was crooked against the wall, a soft breeze coming from the crack. They had shoved it aside, not bothering to be quiet, whoever was down there wouldn't have anywhere to run.

John took the front, taking the steps carefully, a gunshot just narrowly missed his feet and he pushed Dean back against the wall. They heard a shotgun being reloaded.

"I knew you'd come," A voice – rusty with age – called angrily. "But don't think I'm going easy."

"We're not fucking demons!" Dean yelled back.

"Yeah, right!" Came the reply.

"How would we cross your salt lines?" Dean asked. He glanced to the ceiling where familiar symbols were painted, "And we wouldn't be able to leave this devil's trap either."

"Who are you?" The voice demanded.

"Let us enter," John replied, "And we can talk."

There was a moment of quiet, finally the person replied, "Okay."

They were careful down the stairs, and they held their arms in the air, letting the man look them up and down, shotgun still in hand. He flung out an arm, soaking both of them with holy water.

"Satisfied?" Dean asked. The man didn't reply, just sat down on a haggard old armchair, keeping his gun pointed.

"Well, I wasn't expecting anyone like you," he said, he sounded tired, afraid. Dean felt like that wasn't enough.

"You were one of the surgeons," John went straight to it. He didn't move to sit on any of the other makeshift chairs, he just loomed over the man. The man was older than middle-aged, thin and wiry with bony hands and a scraggly grey beard. He seemed a little surprised by John's words, even though he must have had an idea why they were there.

"I was," he answered honestly. "And you must be a family member of one of the children. A father, I suppose?"

"Yes," John replied, his voice was sharp and bitter.

"Is your child still living?" the man asked bluntly.

"Yes."

"Either way, I suppose an apology won't mean anything."

The silence was his answer. He nodded, like he'd expected it.

"You can kill me," he said dropping the shotgun to his side. "It's going to happen sooner or later. But at this point I wonder if a demon would be more merciful."

Dean glanced over to his father and understood what the man was talking about. John had murder in his eyes, though he was trying hard to conceal it.

"We haven't come to kill you," John sounded calmer than he looked. "We want answers. We want to know _exactly_ what you did to those children."

"Your child won't tell you?" the man asked, but he answered his own question with a nod. "I admit that we all earned our places in Hell for what we did. And that time's coming soon, I'm just tired of running now…"

Dean was getting impatient and kicked the leg off the man's chair, startling him. "I don't give a crap about you, or how your feeling, or what the demons are going to do to you. Just tell us what you did to my brother so we can get out of here and leave you to rot."

Again, the man nodded, understanding. "I'll tell you now that I left that place before it was destroyed. I quit and left in May 2000. There were only five kids left at that point. I can't tell you what might have happened to them after I left. Which one was your brother?"

Dean paused, it felt wrong to tell him. "Sam," he said. "Do you remember him?"

The surgeon chuckled a little. "How could I not?"

"Well?" John pushed.

The man looked up at them and pursed his lips, nodding again. "Very well. You have every right. I began working there in the Winter of 1998. My medical licence had been taken away and I had no job. A woman approached me one day and asked if I wanted work. She said it was important and top secret. At the time, I couldn't say no."

He sighed, Dean could hear the regret and shame in it, in the way he slumped in his seat a little.

"There were seventeen children there when I started. I was told there had been twenty. They told me that we were there to help them, that these children were infected. At first I didn't understand, they looked healthy to me. Then I saw one of them electrocute a guard with touch alone and I understood that these children weren't normal. I've always been a religious man and believed in the goodness of God. I thought that we were doing God's work, taking Hell's children to use for good. I was wrong. I remember Sam especially; he was the only one who didn't show signs of ability. Everyone else was disappointed because, physically and mentally, he was strong."

Dean listened, picturing Sam in white clothes, being poked and prodded and demanded to do _something_.

"They would dispose of the ones who had no hope; a boy who could make anyone do anything had shown promise and they wanted to make him more advanced, surgically alter him. It hadn't been done before and it went wrong. He ended up a vegetable and they put him down. They said it didn't matter, there was another one, the boy had a twin. Sam used to be fierce, he would stand up to staff, even attacked them on a number of occasions. They put him in isolation as punishment but he didn't change his attitude, he ended up spending most of his time in there. Time alone in silence makes a man go mad. He had a vision, and everyone got excited, decided he would go in for a procedure once they perfected it – a procedure to bring his powers to the surface. It was a tricky thing to do, I don't know how they even discovered whereabouts in the brain their abilities were stored. They killed a few kids getting it right. But then Sam got sick. He was to unwell, mentally, to go through the surgical procedure and they ended up performing another surgery to fix it, hoping he would get better."

Dean swallowed a hard lump in his throat and blinked tears from his eyes.

"Sam had the surgery, but it just made him more placid, for a while. They thought they had an opportunity when he was in that state to make him how they wanted. There are procedures that have been used in wars to turn prisoners into warriors, assassins to send back home. It was brutal, and torturous and Sam fought most of the way, but I guess he got tired and gave up and the treatment ended up working. He was cold and obedient, completely delusional with the lies he was told. But it never stuck, he'd come back to himself and they'd do the treatment again. They did it over and over and he couldn't take it. He snapped, completely lost it. He would talk to things that weren't there, like he had before the surgery, but he was worse. It was like they'd split him down the middle," he paused and took a breath, staring down at his hands. "It was like _we_ had split him down the middle."

"You bastard," Dean breathed out shakily. "You're a monster."

The man looked at him. "I know that now," he said. "I left not long after. I couldn't stay there anymore. I couldn't be a part of it."

"You left them there!" John growled, he advanced on the man, grabbing him by the neck, the man choked. "You never tried to help them!"

"Dad, stop!" Dean pulled his father away. "He isn't worth it. Let the demons have him."

"I know what I did," the man said, trying to catch his breath. "I will pay for it for eternity. I regret what I did, and what I didn't do. I accept what I'll get because I know I deserve it."

"Oh," Dean scoffed, "You deserve more than Hell will give you."

He couldn't be in there any longer, he headed for the stairs and marched up with John on his heels. On the way out he kicked the salt line and broke it, John didn't say a word. He managed to stumble through the wood and back to the truck before he bent over and choked up his stomach contents.

* * *

A/N Sorry for taking so long to update. I've sorted out my chapter plan and if I follow it correctly then there will be 20 chapters.

So, John and Dean know everything, and Sam knows they lied to him.

How do you think that'll affect their relationship?


	4. Whispering

_March 6_ _th_ _2003_

There was a rapt knock on the door that almost sent Andy leaping off the side of his bed. He hurriedly grabbed the remote and turned off the TV, wrapping his dressing gown around him as he moved carefully towards the door.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Room service, sir," came the reply, stiff and polite.

"Oh, yeah," Andy fumbled with the lock and opened up. The concierge was an older man; Andy had taken to calling him Jeeves ever since he moved himself into the Hilton in LA. He was staying in the penthouse suite, complete with a plasma screen, a king-sized bed and a shower head that could do all sorts of things…

"May I come in, sir?" Jeeves asked, gesturing grandly to the covered tray in his hand. Andy stepped aside and cast a glance down each end of the hallway before securing the lock again when he was sure it was clear. He turned back to the concierge.

"That's fine," he dismissed him. Andy pulled off the silver plate cover and grinned. Lobster, buttered potatoes, crispy French fries, crab cakes and chicken fingers with every kind of dipping sauce. Not a combination that was on the menu but Andy could get anything he wanted.

He dunked a fistful of fries into ketchup and shoved them in his mouth. He stopped short when he noticed that Jeeves was still in the room.

"Uh… you can go," he said around a mouthful of food. Jeeves didn't move and Andy felt every alert go off in his mind. He took a step back; Jeeves took a step forward. "Leave!"

"I don't think so, Andy," the concierge said, still advancing on him. Andy made a dash for it, leaping up and over the bed, right past the pool table and into the bathroom. He locked the door and shoved a chest of drawers up against it.

His chest was heaving hard as he backed away from the door, eyes on it like it might cave in any second. He backed right up into something and whirled around. Jeeves tilted his head to the side, almost like he was pitying him, but in the way a cat might pity a mouse before it chewed its tail off.

"Andy, there's nowhere to run," he said. Andy wasn't listening, he was trying desperately to open the window but it wouldn't budge. He dared to turn back around again.

"Who are you?" he demanded, sounding less afraid than he was. "What do you want?"

"I only want to talk," Jeeves said. He seemed to consider Andy for a moment, eyes sweeping the length of him. When he looked back up his eyes were yellow. Andy backed away so quickly he slammed into the wall.

"Get away!"

"Andy," the thing tutted. "You're not the sharpest tool in the shed, are you? You ought to have figured out by now that none of this is real."

And blinked at him, then looked around. Everything looked the same to him. "What – " he started to say, but then he began to notice how everything was ever so slightly twisted, not quite the right shape of size. "Am I dreaming?" he finally asked.

"Ding ding ding! We have a winner!"

Andy frowned, realising he was being made fun of. "What do you want?" he asked grudgingly.

"Oh Andy…" it said softly, it moved forward and crouched down in front of him. "What can't you give me? With powers like yours…"

"How do you know about that?"

The thing grinned. "I gave them to you. You're welcome, by the way."

"You did…" Andy sputtered, his mind ran back the past five years. "You're a demon? _The_ demon? They told us about you."

"They," it spat the word like poison, "A bunch of egotistical assholes, wouldn't you agree?"

Andy shrugged, he wasn't going to deny it.

"Well," it went on, "Like I was saying; I've got something to talk to you about. Tell me, Andy, how do you feel about games?"

"What?" Andy blinked at the demon.

"There's something coming up," it told him, "A competition. Like the Olympics but… with less gold and more… well, we'll get to it when we get to it."

"You… you want me to be part of some, some competition?" Andy sputtered.

"I only want the best," it crooned, "And, kid, you're a gold-medal athlete."

"No," Andy snorted, "I'm just fine without a gold medal. Thanks."

"Shame," it pouted, "It's up to you if you win or not. And I was even bothering to give you a heads up. But if you don't want my help…"

"Heads up?" Andy frowned. "Wait, who else is in this competition?"

"Old friends of yours," it answered. "You know, the psychic breakfast club."

Andy was confused for a moment before it hit him. "The others…" he breathed. "No, you can't."

"I can," it barked a laugh. "This is happening, tiger. Winner takes it all, literally. Last man standing."

"You're going to kill them?" he realised.

It snorted, holding back a laugh. "I'm not killing anyone. That's all up to you crazy kids."

"Why would I kill any of them?"

"Because they'll try to kill you."

"No, they won't," Andy denied.

"Wanna bet?"

Knowing Ava, Andy wouldn't want to bet. Knowing Jake… maybe even Lily. Not Sam, though, Sam wouldn't… But then again, he'd seen Sam when he'd come back from Solitary _different_. Sam had been the worst of any of them, if he wanted to be.

The demon grinned, catching the look in Andy's eyes, the fear and disbelief. "You think on it, kiddo. Get yourself ready because it's coming. Whether you like it or not. Just keep in mind that if you are the last one standing then you get to walk away from it all and live it up as you please. I'll be seeing you."

Andy woke up, sweating and twisted in silk bedsheets. The hotel room was empty and dark, and Andy felt more alone than he had in a long time.

* * *

 _March 5_ _th_ _2003_

Caleb was watching him. Sam didn't even need to look up to know it.

Eyes prickled the top of his head, all quiet-quiet. Like the cameras, like games of I Spy.

It seemed that whatever Dean had told him before he'd left Caleb was taking it all on whole-heartedly. Even with a leg that was cracked and creaked back together in bandages he was hopping around Sam like he needed to piss. The idea made Sam laugh a little out loud. But honestly, Sam was getting a little agitated with it all, like his brain was squirming his head, wanting to get out. He wasn't a child. He was capable of looking after himself, despite what everyone might have thought. He could tie his laces and say the alphabet and tell you what a dead person smelled like.

That morning, once the sun was making her shine, Caleb had been the one to pour the milk on Sam's cereal. White rivers drowning golden men. He'd stood, leaning on his crutches, watching intently as Sam took his pills. Sturdy little soldiers.

"Want me to stick out my tongue?" Sam asked as he dropped one into his mouth, following it with a gulp of water.

"If you don't mind."

Sam opened his mouth wide and moved his tongue up and down, side to side, until Caleb seemed satisfied. Caleb shuffled over to an empty kitchen chair and lowered himself into it, propping up his leg with a satisfied groan. Sam watched him wriggle his bare toes at the end of his cast and thought of worms.

"Eat your breakfast," he snipped, peaking an eye open to see Sam staring at him with an untouched bowl of cereal in front of him. Sam sighed and dipped his spoon in, he grimaced when it came out, a mound of soggy cornflakes that reminded him of blood-soaked tissues left to go cold on steel tables. He dropped it back in.

He was getting seriously restless. His foot was tapping under the table, his fingers fiddled with the hem of his shirt like was ready to pull himself right out of his own skin. He needed to get _out_.

"Get out," he muttered.

Caleb frowned. "What was that, Sam?"

Things were starting to get loud, too much going on at once. Too many questions. He looked at Caleb, trying to ignore that look on his face, the same look he saw on everyone when he said or did something they didn't quite understand.

 _Because they'll never understand you. None of them will. They're too different, too normal. Not like you with your angry fists and broken brain._

Too much noise.

Sam got abruptly to his feet, quick enough that the bowl jolted a little on the table when he knocked it with his hip. Caleb was looking at him expectantly, one hand on his crutch like he was ready to get up and follow him.

"I have to study," Sam told him, using his best real-person voice, trying to keep the pounding of his heart from beating its way into his words. When Caleb didn't say anything he added, "My exams are in a couple of days."

Caleb finally nodded. "You're a good kid, Sam," he said, a sympathetic smile on his face. Sam hated that look, he wondered if he could take it off Caleb without hurting him. Thoughts of blank faces and bloody drips made sure he quickly turned away and headed to his room as fast as he could. Caleb was being… strange. They all were. Sam shut his door behind himself and then he realised;

 _They're all lying to you. Liar liar house on fire._

"But why?" Sam wondered.

He glanced around his room. Clem had been sleeping on his bed, sleepy wet whiskers, but she was sitting up now, head cocked to the side, looking at him the same way everyone else did.

"Don't you start," he scowled, and he dropped heavily into his desk chair. His books and notes were set out, neatly organised. He flipped out his note book, filled with writing, colour coded. He knew how to do that, remembering things was something he could do (ABC), what he couldn't do was keep his mind from dwelling on the things he remembered (XYZ). Like the memories of people's faces as they looked at him with secrets hiding behind their eyes.

Liars eyes, sneaky eyes, Sam would take their eyes.

"Brown eyes, green eyes," he half-sang, remembering the eyes that saved him all those years ago. "Liar's eyes. Why would they lie to me? What would they be hiding?"

 _Because it's about you, dumbass._

Sam flinched. "I'm not a dumbass," he defended.

 _Freak_.

"Stop!" Sam hissed. Clem was already up and off the bed, nudging his hand gently. She gave his palm a candy-apple lick and stared at him, big dark eyes. He absently stroked her, tickled behind her ears.

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

She huffed, warm breath, her snout still buried in his hand, and Sam laughed. "You're the only one. Even my brain lies to me, sometimes. Any time. What time is it?"

 _Time for treatment, Samuel._

He gritted his teeth. "Shut up," he told himself. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, just like Dean always told him to when he got stressed, when his brain got louder than it should.

 _Dean was probably lying about that, too._

Sam rubbed his face, breathing deeper. Breathe, breathe, breathe. In, out, in, out. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

If it didn't stop being loud then he would have to tell Dean. Go back to the doctor. Talk more. Take more pills.

 _Take your pills, Samuel. Do you want to go back into Solitary? It's for your own good._

Droopy eyes, dark rooms, nothing but the sound of his own body as it beat and breathed and tried to hold in the panic. Maybe his heart could have broken out of his ribs…

He wasn't going back. He wasn't. He wouldn't.

Hurriedly, Sam found his shoes under his desk, shoved them on his feet, laces still hanging undone. Maybe he'd forgotten how to tie his shoes, but he could still tell you what death smelled like. Once he was out the window, standing in the bushes outside his house with mud all over his sneakers, soaking his limp shoelaces, and the rain softly spitting and clinging to his hair, he bolted.

* * *

The natural place to stop off on the way home had been a bar, of course. Nothing like drinking your troubles away, especially when those troubles were about the disturbing reality of you little brother's kidnapping. Dean sighed and stared down into his glass. His whiskey was almost gone. He picked up the glass and emptied it in a swift gulp before signalling the bartender for another.

"We should get back soon," John said, lips already touching his bottle.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, taking his full glass from the man behind the bar. The two of them drank in silence.

Dean had had his suspicions of what might have happened to Sam, he even knew the truth of some of it, but to have it all laid out before him was too damn much. Too painful. Too shockingly real.

They'd tortured him. They'd opened up his skull. They'd locked him up and thrown away the key. How the hell was Sam still standing up straight? How had Sam even survived it?

His kid brother was strong, stronger than he would ever be.

"God," Dean muttered, and he downed the contents of his glass in one swift gulp that left his stinging.

"I told you that you didn't need to come," John said softly, almost sympathetic. Before Dean could retort John put his hands up and said, "I know. I know you think I wouldn't have told you what I found. And you might have been right, you can see why. Are you going to tell Sam what we know?"

Dean shook his head. "There was a reason he wouldn't tell us what happened to him in the first place. He's been doing so great, you know? If he knew that we knew then it would be like pulling the rug out from under his feet. Sammy would be devastated. It would just be bringing up all kinds of crap he wants to forget about."

John hummed his agreement around his beer bottle. He set it down on the table with a sigh. "We should stop or I won't be able to make the drive home. You sure can't after all the whiskey you practically inhaled."

Dean rolled his eyes, which was a bad idea because the room turned sideways for a second. "Uh, good idea," he agreed, blinking away the fuzz. "Or we could crash at a motel until tomorrow?"

John considered it for a moment. "We'll stay the night," he decided, signalling for another drink. He turned to Dean and smiled, "This is a little like old times, huh? Before we domesticated."

Dean glanced around the bar, filled with truckers and roaring laughter and alcohol stains on the wooden tables. The open road outside and all the miles the truck could eat up.

"It is," Dean nodded. If he closed his eyes for a second, he could have pretended that were true.

"Do you ever miss it?" John asked.

Dean paused, taken a little by surprise. They hadn't really spoken about the hunting life in a long time, sure they still had friends in the hunting community or they took jobs now and then, but they had never spoken of missing it. They never talked about it like it was still an option for them.

"Yes," Dean answered honestly. "Hunting was simple, as weird as that sounds. You in the driver's seat next to me, Sammy in the back. Just us three."

"It's still just us three," John pointed out.

"Yeah," Dean admitted, "But it feels like a completely different world and… and if I could go back to it, I would."

Dean stopped to take a breath, the words had rushed out of him so suddenly. Catching the sad and wistful look in his dad's eye, Dean quickly added, "But I can't go back to it. Things are different. Sammy's different. And he's happy how he is. Safe."

Dean let out a long sigh, rubbing his temples with a tension that suggested he didn't really believe his own words, then he asked, "What do we do?"

John shrugged. "Drink?"

* * *

Caleb was never good with kids, not that Sam was a kid at nineteen years old. But he'd never spent much time with Sam, not even before the Institute. He remembered a weedy little boy with floppy brown hair and a million questions on his mind. Sam had been a cute kid.

But now Sam was sick. Sam would always be sick.

Caleb wondered if Sam was getting _sicker_.

He didn't spend every day with the kid so he couldn't really say what was or wasn't out of the ordinary. He couldn't know for sure if Sam normally talked to himself, or if he fidgeted a lot, or if he was supposed to be hearing things that weren't there. Caleb was sure Sam was hearing things. The way he'd acted a breakfast hadn't seemed that different to how he was in the beginning.

Caleb sat on the couch, leg propped up, watching some emergency room drama, and wondered if he'd taken on more than just babysitting. It had all been a little overwhelming when Dean had shown him a mile-long to-do list the moment he'd arrived.

Honestly, Caleb really cared about Sam. He would, and had, put his life on the line for the kid. But maybe Caleb wasn't the best man for the job. He had no idea what he was doing. He had no idea if it was okay that Sam had just disappeared off to his room alone. Was Sam aloud on his own?

God, Caleb sucked at this.

He eyed the clock and noticed it was just passing midday. He should make some lunch; Dean had said frequent meals were important for the medication plan. He leaned over the back of the couch to look at the kitchen and began to despair over the fact that he had absolutely no cooking skills. He could order something, or maybe Sam knew what he was supposed to be doing. He should go ask Sam.

"Right," Caleb grunted to himself and eyed his heavily casted leg. He sighed and grabbed his crutches and very slowly got himself vertical.

It took some time but he managed to hobble himself out of the living room and into the hallways.

"Sam," he called on his way down, he figured he should give the kid warning if he was going to barge into his room.

No answer.

He waited outside the door and knocked, calling his name again. He frowned, his brow furrowing deeper when he heard the dog whine and scratch at the door inside. He didn't bother with warning and pushed the door open. The dog was already huffing at his legs, looking up at him with a real sad puppy look in her eye.

Sam wasn't at the desk. He wasn't in bed. He wasn't anywhere in sight and Caleb could feel his heart begin to race. The window was open, rain spitting into the room, and he felt his stomach drop further.

Dean was going to kill him.

Wait, Dean had said Sam hid under the bed sometimes. It took a long time to get down to floor level but Caleb did it. Sam wasn't there either. Caleb stayed on the carpet, leg stretched out, and he began to picture how exactly Dean might end him.

The dog, Cullen? Cal? whined again and nudged him.

"What do you want me to do?" Caleb asked. The dog huffed like she was unimpressed. Caleb sighed. "You want me to go look for him?"

She pawed at his arm.

"Right," Caleb dropped his head into his hands. He was way too tired for this. He'd only gotten out of hospital a few days ago. Why had he agreed to this in the first place? It should be Bobby here, or Ellen, not him.

He carefully pulled himself up again and made his way out of the room, the dog followed. He climbed into his truck, let the dog in the passenger seat with the window down, and headed off to look for Sam.

* * *

Sam had been wandering for a while. He wished he had a watch, wrapping his arms around himself he wished he had a coat. His nose and fingers were turning numb from the cold rain; his hair was already soaked. He wasn't sure where he was exactly, just on the outskirts of town, he could see the houses and buildings behind him, standing like lonely things left to rust in the rain, red brick buildings like damp, warm insides. The long roads and stretching fields ahead, on and on, seemed to move, wind further away from him.

Shuddering, he really struggled to remember why exactly he'd left in the first place.

 _They're lying. Liars. Liar liar house on fire. Wasn't your house on fire?_

Sam ducked his head and pushed on. He noticed an old barn not far ahead and set his tracks towards it. It creaked and moaned in the wind like one of the others would when they were taken behind The Door. He wondered if the barn was in pain too as he let himself inside.

It was mostly barren, some old hay stacks were piled up, most of them had come loose and were pulled out onto the floor like bed stuffing. Sam sat down in it, still not feeling as warm as he'd have liked.

He wanted to go home, but he wasn't entirely sure where that was. There was an unfamiliar longing deep in the pit of his stomach, an urgency of something to come. If he still had visions then maybe he would have known, but things were different now. He wasn't as strong as he was.

He thought he missed that strength, the same strength that his family was afraid of. But Faceless was gone now, even so, the shadows still moved in the corner of his eye.

"Sam?"

It was her voice, outside of his head. He looked up and she was there, really there, standing by the door wearing a big raincoat and a worried expression.

"What are you doing out here?" Rachel asked, moving forward.

"Could ask you the same thing," Sam retorted, curling his soggy-sleeved arms tighter around his chest.

Rachel smiled, stopping a few paces ahead of him. Sam wondered if she was afraid of his crazy. "I was driving and then I saw you heading into this barn so I came over to see what was going on. You okay?"

"Fine," Sam mumbled.

"You must be freezing," she commented, already pulling off her coat. She looked him over as she approached. "You walked all the way here without your laces done?"

Sam nodded. She sat down beside him and wrapped the coat over his shoulders. He jerked a little at first, unable to help it, but he leaned into the warmth, smelling vanilla and cherry lip gloss.

"You kind of ran out on me the other day," she said, "Hope I didn't scare you away."

Sam looked up at her. She was smiling but her eyes were sad, blue eyes. Her hair had curled in the rain, there were dark shadows around her eyes were her makeup had smudged like charcoal. She was pretty, candy-sweet pretty and blooming-garden pretty all at once and she was staring at Sam like she cared because she liked him, not because she had to.

"Are you upset about something?" she asked.

"My family is lying to me," he said. And then she had prompted him with nothing more than a tiny _oh?_ and he was spilling everything as honestly as he could. By the time he was done talking, Rachel's mouth was twisted thoughtfully.

"I guess they're trying to protect you," she said, "but it doesn't seem like they trust you. How old are you, Sam?"

"Nearly twenty Mays," he answered, he grimaced when his words came out jumbled but Rachel didn't seem to mind, she laughed softly.

"See? You're an adult. They should give you more independence," she said, "It's not fair. And, believe me, I know unfair parents."

"I just want to be normal," Sam said softly. Rachel put her hand on his shoulder and leaned forward.

"I don't," she said. "You're fine as you are."

And then they were kissing, but this time Sam had been the one to lean in first. It was different to the last time, there was no surprise, there was barely an thought, just softness and the warmth between them. He kissed her deeper, tongue tasting, mouth moving, fingers in her hair brushing her unscarred scalp.

She was the one to pull away first and Sam felt himself leaning forward a little. She brushed a hand over his cheek. "I'll take you home."

"Oh," was all Sam could say.

 _She doesn't want you. You blew it. What was that anyway?_

"I like you, Sam, a lot," her words took him by surprise. "But I don't want you to catch a cold. Come one."

She stood up and held out her hand, Sam took it.

They didn't talk much on the way back into town, but Rachel kept glancing at him, sending him small smiles like they were meant to be kept secret. Sam watched her, wished he could feel her again. She was warm and sweet, she was truth.

* * *

Nothing.

Not one sign of the kid. No one in town had seen him, but plenty people had offered to call Dean for him which Caleb had hurriedly told them there was no need. Things were fine.

Caleb wished.

He was driving back to the Winchester's house like he was walking to the gallows. If Sam wasn't in the house, then he was a dead man. There'd be nothing left to salt and burn. The dog looked just as dismayed as he was, head hanging, whining like someone had died.

God, Caleb hoped not.

Thankfully, the rain had stopped, and it was easier getting out the car than it was getting in. He hobbled to the door.

Sam was inside. Sam was _inside_ , sitting at the kitchen table with a book like he'd been there the whole time. Sam didn't say anything, just waved as he lifted his hand to turn the page.

"Where the hell have you been?" Caleb barely kept himself from yelling.

"Out," Sam answered, "Round about. Merry-go-round."

He didn't bother trying to translate that, only the first word filtered through. "Out?" he repeated, "Where? Sam, you can't just wander off like that!"

Sam looked up that time and glared. "I'm nearly twenty. I'm not a kid. ABC…"

"Yes, you are!" Caleb did yell that time. "You're not like everyone else, you can't just go off when you like! You could get hurt!"

"I'm not stupid," Sam growled. "Why does everyone think that?"

"You're not stupid, Sam, you're crazy!" Caleb slammed his mouth shut. "Shit… kid, I didn't mean that."

Sam shook his head and stood up. "Yes. You did." He grabbed his book and stormed down to his room, slamming the door closed behind him. Caleb didn't go after him, he had no clue what to say. He dropped into the kitchen chair and pressed his hands over his face. Sam wasn't missing, but Dean was still going to kill him.

He spent most of the night trying to distract himself with the TV, and making frequent checks to Sam's room, he was under the bed all night. Even the damn dog gave him disapproving looks. He cooked dinner, ordered a pizza when he burned it, and still couldn't get Sam to leave his room so he left a plate on the desk, along with the pills. He was relieved to see the pills were gone when he next went to check on him.

Eventually, his own meds knocked him out and he fell asleep on the covers of Dean's bed only to be woken in the early hours of the morning by Sam's screams.

* * *

Sorry for such a long wait between updates! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, big things to come. I really hope you're all enjoying the story, I know, first hand now, that sequels can be hard, I hope you're still interested. Please review and let me know what you think, hearing from you really does motivate the story.


	5. Nightmare

_March 6_ _th_ _2003_

Sometimes, Sam dreamed.

Most of the time, the pills would do their job, make stormy clouds in his brain thick enough that he couldn't see the dreams.

But there were times that he was unlucky enough for clear skies in his head, followed by hours of images playing out like a reel in and old movie theatre, cracked and flashing, nightmares that he couldn't wake from because the pills held him down and kept him tucked up too warm in his own mind.

Sam had taken his meds; the long blue pills kept the voices quiet, the pink pills kept him calm, the small white pills helped him sleep. He would sleep for exactly eight hours, for which time he could sleep through a plane crashing into the centre of town. He feels himself getting drowsy but he makes sure he stays awake long enough to pray.

"Keep them safe, keep me safe, keep me clean, keep it quiet, keep it dark, keep me good. Amen."

He would have knelt by the bed if he weren't sure he'd have ended up falling asleep there, it had happened when he first started taking medication, so he made his prayers quick and quiet under his blanket, and he fell asleep with his hands clasped.

And, sometimes, Sam dreamed.

The corridor was long. It stretched on far enough that he couldn't see the end of it. The lights were florescent, dimming and brightening, flickering and beating like the last embers clinging on to cooling coals. Sam walked, there was nowhere to go but forward, behind him he could hear scuffling, he could feel breath against the hairs of his neck, but every time he turned there was nothing but the endless corridor and its flickering lights.

He moved faster, the footsteps behind him picked up, and there was nowhere to go but onwards. The lights stayed out longer the further he walked until he was mostly blind, waiting for the barest flash of light.

He felt along the wall to keep himself steady, but the walls seemed to breathe, closing in on him softly before pulling out again. The movement behind him was louder, echoing all along the corridor, footsteps calling for miles.

He began to panic, he felt the need to run even though he didn't know what he was running from or where he was running to.

He wanted to go home. He wanted his dad. He wanted Dean.

There was a door. He squinted at it when the light flickered for a brief moment. Sam could see shadows moving closer from up ahead, he could hear soft breathing behind him. There was no thought that came along with grappling for the door handle, there was only the desperate need to get away.

The door knob was icy cold, it burned and clung to his skin, but Sam held on tight and twisted it hard like he was afraid it might flicker away like the lights. He opened the door and hurled himself forward just as he felt something brush his cheek.

He panted hard, breath wheezing through his chest, and it was thankfully the only sound he could hear. The door was gone, along with the breathing and the shadows and the broken lights. He finally opened his eyes. Looking around, Sam wished more than anything he could be back in the corridor.

There was no door, no windows. Just four walls, a ceiling to cap it, and tiles beneath his feet. The room. _The_ room.

"No," he whispered in a panic, "No. let me out. Let me _out!"_

He crawled from the corner, the man with no face, and stared at Sam with eyes he didn't have. Sam could hear laughter, uneven and sharp like a saw scraping into his skin to drag at his bones.

"I have a face. I have a face. I have a face," Sam chanted, he had to remind himself. Faceless rose to his feet, cocked his head to the side, the skin stretched where a smile might have been. He wore white, a plastic bracelet around his wrist, a scar hacked into the side of his head.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut.

Nothing.

He opened them to a nursery. All white and soft, rabbits with socks and bears in hats, bars on a crib. He peered into it to find the white blankets turning red from the inside out. He shouldn't have looked up, but he did.

She was so pretty, so kind, so gutted and terrified. Brown curls and cherry lip gloss that painted _you did this to me_ in shiny pink. And Rachel burned. And Sam screamed as she scorched out his eyes.

He could hear the sharp buzz of metal spinning, the heavy grind of it cutting through something hard, thin slices through flesh and the smack of rubber gloves wet with blood. The surgery was grimy, red-brown smears across the tiles, white sheets draped haphazardly across lumps like rotting meat. The metal instruments were rusted and abandoned on their tray.

There were no surgeons but they'd left behind the body. The legs were too long for the table, feet sticking over the edge, one arm had fallen down to brush the floor. Sam couldn't stop himself from looking at the face. His face.

He was dead; shaved head cracked open, brains scooped out and dribbling to the floor, just like the others.

"Jesus, kid, is this what you dream about?" the voice cut through the room, deep and amused. Sam didn't know the man's face, but he knew those yellow eyes more than he knew his own mind. The Demon folded his arms across his chest and gazed down at the Sam on the table, shaking his head.

"I know fucked up, kiddo, believe me, but this is a whole new level of twisted," he chuckled, "This is what goes on in that noggin of yours?"

Sam shook his head uncertainly. "You're real," he realised.

"Not in the flesh," the Demon shrugged, "But it's me."

"Why are you here?"

"I wanted to chat with you, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

The Demon raised his eyebrow. "You've got a sharp tongue on you."

Sam backed away, felt behind his back for one of the scalpels. The demon wasn't looking at him, too busy gazing around the room with sick fascination. Sam gripped the handle of his knife and held tightly.

"I've got some business for you, Sam," the Demon finally said after peering under the white sheets with a sick grin. "You're going to be my champion."

Sam giggled. "Like a tournament? Do you have a dragon for me to fight?"

The Demon looked a little perturbed, if a demon could look that way. "You really are a psycho, huh? You really did lose your damn mind."

Sam frowned. "I don't think so," he said honestly, shrugging. "I think I just misplaced it. It could have migrated, south maybe, you could check behind my kidney."

"I like you, kid," the Demon chuckled. "There's something real special about a guy who can go through hell on earth and come out the other end with most of himself intact. Real admirable. But back to business – "

"What's your name?" Sam cut across, suddenly curious.

The Demon paused and stared at him, eyebrow raised. "None of the others thought to ask that."

"So you talked to the others," Sam noted, "Are they all your champions, too?"

There was a flicker of fury on the Demon's borrowed face and Sam couldn't help but laugh. "You're a smart boy," it praised reluctantly, gritted teeth.

"Your name," Sam repeated.

"A name can be a dangerous thing," the Demon cautioned, "Are you sure you want it?"

Sam snorted. "Dangerous for _you_. I think it's only fair since you know my name."

The Demon sighed. "Fine. I am called Astaroth."

"Liar," Sam snapped. "Liar liar house on fire."

The Demon grinned. "And how do you know that?"

"You're in _my_ head," Sam reminded it, "You can't hide things in here."

"You want my name?" The Demon asked. Sam nodded. "Azazel."

Sam repeated it, weighed it out on his tongue. "I think we're even now," he said, "Only I think I should burn _your_ mother."

"Don't worry about it, kiddo, I did that myself a long time ago," Azazel's lip twitched. "As for your mommy, that was… unfortunate. Nothing personal, honestly."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Would you spit it out so you can leave me alone, then?"

"Alright, Sammy," The Demon nodded. "There's going to be a competition coming up between you and your little psychic friends. Only one winner, and I want it to be you."

"I suppose not winning means not living," Sam guessed.

"Yes."

"And you think I'm scared of dying?"

"Yes."

Sam paused before his next question. "Why should I play along with your game?"

"Because if you don't, I'll burn everything you love."

Sam froze, drew his eyes up to meet yellow ones.

"That pretty little brunette will go first," Azazel said, "Just like your mommy did. Then your daddy, I'll sic my mutts on him, rip him up. Your mutt will be easy enough to bleed dry, I'll be eating dog for dinner. And your brother? I'll pull him downstairs and you won't see him again until his eyes are black."

Sam was lunging at the Demon before it could finish speaking, swiping the scalpel at it, only to fall through air. A shadow fell over him and he looked up to the fury on the Demon's face.

"I like you, Sam," it said, "But you will be obedient."

"I won't be obedient," Sam growled, "Not ever again. You can't have my face!"

He yelped when long, cold fingers curled through his hair, yanked him to his feet by his roots and dragged him over to the lumpy white sheets.

"I don't make idle threats, boy," it hissed in his ear, "Here's how this will end if you don't do as I say."

It ripped the sheets away.

"No…" Sam moaned.

His father, shredded, chest mangled and torn away, empty eyes staring up at Sam like the last thing he felt was disappointment. And Dean, whiter that sour milk, dead, dead, dead.

"Do you understand?" the Demon purred against his neck.

Sam just cried until he was set free, tumbling into wakefulness with a scream tearing from his throat.

* * *

Thanks to the alcohol, Dean was sleeping dreamlessly.

And it would have stayed that way until the sun came up if his damn phone weren't blasting _Smoke on the Water_ in his ear, he could have sworn the volume was never that loud before.

He peeled his eyes open, grit stinging them, and he squinted at the alarm clock by the bed.

3.52am

"Dean," John grumbled from the next bed, "Answer the damn phone."

Dean scrunched his nose, smacked his dry whisky lips and felt around his jeans pocket for his cell. He couldn't see a damn thing, even with the motel's obnoxious sign blaring through the curtains. The phone stopped ringing and Dean let himself sink back into his pillow, mind too muzzy with alcohol to join any dots.

He just wanted to sleep.

The phone started ringing again and John flicked on the bedside light. "Answer the phone," he ordered, already getting to his feet. Dean flipped the cell open and frowned when he noticed that Caleb's name was flashing at him urgently.

"'ullo," he answered, propping himself up on his elbow.

"Thank God, Dean," Caleb sighed, "You _need_ to come home. Right now."

That got his attention and he sat up fast enough to make the room spin. "What the hell is going on?"

"Sam won't stop crying!" Caleb exclaimed, "He woke me up because he was screaming and I tried to calm him down but he won't let me near him, keeps kicking at me if I try. The whole damn neighbourhood can hear; I'm worried they'll call the cops."

"Put Sammy on the phone," Dean ordered.

"I can't get near him!" Caleb insisted, "He won't even let the dog near him. He keeps saying you're dead."

Dean felt himself wake up a little more, and John gave him a questioning look.

"Why does he think that?" he asked.

"I don't know! You just have to come back _now!"_

Dean was up on his feet, shovelling his boots onto his feet with one hand. "I'm on my way," Dean barked, "Keep trying to calm him down, give him about half a pink pill if you can, don't let the cops get involved."

"How am I supposed to do that? I'm surprised they haven't turned up yet with the racket he's making."

Dean huffed. "Caleb, you're a clever boy, I'm sure you'll think of something. We'll be there in a few hours."

He hung up before Caleb could get another word in and looked over to his dad.

"Sam needs us?" John asked, though his tone said he already knew.

"Sammy needs us," Dean nodded.

* * *

It was a miracle that they weren't pulled over on the way back. Dean was still mostly drunk so John was behind the wheel, breaking every speed limit. Dean spent a lot of time on the phone, trying with very little patience to make sure Caleb had calmed down enough to try to calm Sam down, who was apparently still using all of his limbs as weapons.

"Look, we're about half an hour out, maybe less," Dean told Caleb tiredly, "Just hold on 'til then, make sure Sammy knows we're coming."

"I'm _trying_ ," Caleb stressed, "He won't listen to me. I'm not cut out for this."

"No, you're not," Dean admitted, rubbing his temples, trying to ease the construction crew that had taken up residence in his head, "But you're all we've got. Dude, you fight monsters for a living, you can handle a mental breakdown for another thirty minutes… wait, you've only got twenty-five minutes."

"Right," Caleb let out a long breath, "I can do it. Sorry, man, for freaking out. I suck, I know."

"Yep," Dean didn't really have the patience to make him feel better. "Where are you right now? How's Sammy doing?"

"I'm in his bedroom doorway," Caleb whispered, "Um, he's been under the bed for a while. He's not screaming anymore unless I go near, just crying right now and… yeah, he's talking to himself."

"He does that when he gets worked up," Dean reassured, "Nothing to worry about. So long as it sounds like he's only talking to himself and not someone else."

"Definitely just talking to himself," Caleb said after a moment.

"And he's taken all of his meds properly?"

"Yeah. He's been good with that, at least."

Dean froze, then heard Caleb curse himself on the other end. " _At least._ What does that mean?"

"Dean…" Caleb began, then sighed heavily, "Alright. He might have wandered off today."

" _What!"_

"He's fine, I swear!"

"I told you to keep an eye on him! Jesus, Caleb, what happened?"

"He went to study in his room, he said, and when I went to check on him he wasn't there. I went out looking for him and I could see any sign of the kid, but when I got back he was just sitting in the kitchen."

Dean snorted. "You sure he actually left the house?"

"I'm sure!" Caleb argued. "He wouldn't tell me where he went, then we had, er, we argued and he went to his room. I made sure he got his meds in him and he went to sleep, you know the rest."

"Right, well, we just passed the town's sign. I'll see you soon so I can break your other leg," Dean threatened, hanging up.

The drive was mostly silent, right up until they turned onto their street and saw the gaggle of neighbours hanging around in their nightwear. They watched as their truck passed, whispering to each other about whatever rumours had been concocted. Most of their small town knew about Sam's state of mind, the poor kid was publicly outed during a pretty bad episode and word had spread like wildfire not long after. The worst thing was the look on Sam's face once he was lucid enough to be told what had happened.

Dean hopped out of the parked truck, completely ignoring the nosier neighbours who tried to get a better look at what was happening, or even had the audacity to ask about it. Dean slammed the front door closed behind them.

"Thank fuck!" Caleb exclaimed, hobbling over on his crutches once he saw them.

"He still under the bed?" Dean asked, he only needed the small nod from Caleb before he was striding past without another word into Sam's bedroom. It was as impeccably neat as ever, except for the bed covers which were empty and twisted, half-hanging off the mattress.

Clementine was curled up on the floor at the end of the bed, she lifted her snout when he entered and let out a soft whine. Dean smoothed down her fur as he crouched down to peer under the bed. Despite his height, Sam had managed fit all of his limbs under his bed, he seemed still and quiet and Dean might have thought he were asleep but as he crawled closer around the bed he could hear Sam whispering to himself.

"Sammy, it's Dean," he called softly. Sam paused for a second before resuming whatever conversation he was having with himself. Dean strained to hear what he was saying, but couldn't make out the words.

"You want to tell me what's going on?" Dean persisted. Sam didn't respond.

"Sammy…" he reached out to place a hand Sam's leg, the closest part of him he could reach, but Sam shrieked and Dean went hurling into the wall, shoulder throbbing, as Sam's legs kicked out.

"No no no no no. NO!" Sam yelled, "You can't. Don't be… not near me! You'll die! You're already dead, you liar!"

Dean clutched at his shoulder, already feeling a bruise forming there, and groaned. John was there, pressing a warm hand to the back of his neck, comforting, he crouched down and peered under the bed.

"Sam," he said sternly but gently, "Come out from under there, please."

Sam shook his head frantically, eyes wide. "If I come out then I'll see it. I'll _feel_ it. Drip drip dripping on me, all hot and red and dying, and it'll be my fault. If I look then it'll be true, then _you'll_ be true. You."

Dean's face was pinched as he felt himself begin to panic. "Sammy, if you come out, you'll see that everything's fine. It was just a bad dream."

Sam's gaze snapped up, fiery as he glared at the two of them. "How do I know that's true? You lied to me, you're always lying. Liar liar house on fire."

"I didn't lie to you – "

"You're lying again!" Sam shrieked and buried his face behind his hands, he peered at them through the gaps between his fingers. When he spoke again his voice was small and trembling, "I don't want to play the game."

Dean dared to crawl forward a little. Sam didn't swipe at him but he did shrink further away, as much as he could under his bed. "Sam, talk to me. Ask me anything and I'll tell you the truth."

Sam regarded him for a moment, then he slowly lowered his hands. "You didn't go on a hunt," Sam whispered.

"We did go on a hunt," Dean answered, and it wasn't a lie. Sam stared at him for a moment, then at the carpet pressed against his cheek.

"True," he whispered. "But you're sneaking something away with S-A-M written all over it."

"Do you believe me if I say I'll tell you all about it when you're ready. When I'm ready?"

Hesitantly, Sam nodded.

"And will you tell me what's going on with you?"

Sam swallowed thickly, throat working, his eyes were shining with fresh tears. "I don't know if I can," he said softly, unsteadily. "If I say it then it's out of my head and I can't get it back. I can't take it back."

Dean sighed patiently. "Nothing bad is going to happen. Promise."

Sam frowned at him for a moment, unsure, but he eventually relented and slowly made his way out from under the bed. Clementine trotted over, licked at sam's cheek, pulling at a smile. He scratched her behind the ears, but his hands were shaking so badly that he just tucked then under his thighs as he sat on the carpet.

"I had a dream," he said quietly, glancing around like he was checking for any eavesdroppers.

"It was just a dream," Dean told him.

Sam shook his head fervently. "No. No, it wasn't. You weren't there, you don't know," he gritted out, fresh tears spilling silently. "He came to me," Sam whispered breathlessly, "He _told_ me. He _looked_ at me, yellow light, get ready."

John sat up straight. "Who, Sam?"

Sam's lip trembled, he managed to hurl himself into Dean's chest before he completely crumbled, trembling and sobbing so hard he could barely get a breath out. Dean gripped him tight, let him cry and soak through his shirt with salty tears. Caleb had disappeared from the doorway, and Dean was thankful. He just held his brother and ignored everything else. Clem was nudging softly at Sam's back, licking, Dean's arm. John looked as white as a corpse, seemed as still as one, too, as he stared at his youngest son, horrified.

"Who, Sam?" he repeated.

Sam was quiet, Dean barely heard him, but he managed to catch Sam's shaky whisper.

"The man with the yellow eyes."

* * *

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Things are about to kick off. Thank you to everyone who has followed/favourited this story, I'm glad you've stuck with me. Reviews are very much appreciated :)


	6. Poison

A new chapter! Can you believe it?

* * *

 _March 10_ _th_ _2003_

Dean couldn't stop himself from watching Sam. His little brother knew he was staring, he just chose to ignore that fact and that was okay with Dean. Sam had exams to go to later that day, really important exams he needed to pass to get his high school diploma, and Dean wanted for Sam to finish high school. He just didn't want Sam out of his sight even more.

Ever since Sam's nightmare four days ago, Dean had been on edge. He had spent most of his free time hovering over Sam's shoulder which had been clearly chafing at his little brother if the irritated glances were anything to go by. But Dean was too worried to care if Sam was bothered by him.

It had been one of the worst nightmares Dean had seen Sam have, and he had seen a lot. For the entirety of the following day Sam had refused to speak, he just shook his head whenever he was asked a question, barely looked up or left his room. The next day, when he had started talking again, he refused to acknowledge that he'd had any bad dreams at all.

Something was troubling their dad too. John had grown stony-faced and quiet ever since, spending a lot of time making hushed phone calls and flipping through his journal that has been hidden away in his bedside drawer for the past couple of years. Dean felt like he was the only one who had no idea what was happening.

Sam pushed out from the kitchen table, Dean quickly followed, lingering around as Sam rinsed his bowl in the sink. He even followed him down the hall, but Sam turned to him outside the bathroom door.

"I'm not gonna slip and drown in the toilet, if that's what's bothering you," he said, not looking Dean in the eye. He hadn't looked anyone directly in the eye for four days and it was far too worryingly familiar.

Dean nodded, but he still waited outside the door for him. Leaving the bathroom, Sam completely ignored him, just brushed by and then shut his bedroom door in Dean's face.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean called, knocking on the door, "Please talk to me."

He waited a moment before the door cracked open. Sam stared at his feet, his mouth twitched slightly, and he said, "About what?"

Dean stepped in before the door could be shut in his face again. He sat down in Sam's desk chair, Clem padded over from the foot of the bed to him and he gave her a pat. "Sam, you know what I want to talk about. You had a serious nightmare the other night. And it's okay, I just don't think it's doing you any good to keep quiet about it."

Sam finally shut the door. He sat down on the edge of his bed. His fingers twitched on his lap, the tick ran up his arm and caused his shoulder to jerk. "I'm fine," he said, slowly, "It was just pictures in my head. Not real life. I know."

"Still," Dean said softly, "I can tell it's upsetting you."

Finally, Sam looked him in the eye. "This is a chick-flick moment," he said matter-of-factly.

"Shut up," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "I dictate chick-flick moments, and this isn't one. Spill."

Sam's eyes darted away again, focusing just over Dean's shoulder. "I don't remember the dream."

"Liar," Dean accused.

"House on fire…" Sam trailed of. Dean frowned, taking in the ticks and the senseless words, he was seriously beginning to worry. Maybe he would have to count Sam's pills.

"Sammy, are you good for your exams?" he checked. Sam nodded, still staring at the wall.

Dean sighed. "You can say if you're not. No one will be mad."

"No one's mad," Sam said softly.

"Sam…" Dean trailed off, Sam still wasn't looking at him. "Just remember that I'll be there to pick you up after. You can call me any time."

A wet snout nudged his leg. "And Clem will be with you," he added. Sam just nodded, he looked away quickly, grabbing his shoes from under the bed, and began to tug them on. Dean sighed again, he was beginning to feel a little nauseous. His little brother constantly had his stomach in knots but this was something different. Maybe once he checked the pills he could make a call to the doctor, if he had to.

Sam was brushing past him to collect some books from the desk, which he shoved into his school bag. Not once did he make any acknowledgement of Dean's presence, not until he had his jacket on and he was standing by the door.

"Let's go," he said, then he disappeared into the hallway.

Dean had been the one to put Clem on her leash, and get her into the back seat. Sam just sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window. He had made sure Sam took the dog into the exam hall with him because he was already trailing off without her, then on his way out Dean made sure to stop at the office to let them know what was going on, making sure to stress that they should call him if they needed to. The receptionist nodded sympathetically, everyone around here knew about Sammy and his… issues.

It put him at ease a little to know there were people watching out for his brother. He made a quick trip home to count Sam's meds. Sammy hadn't neglected any so Dean considered that call to the doctor. But first, he had to hurry to work at the garage. He had a four hour shift to squeeze in before he had to pick Sam up.

* * *

Sam tapped his pen impatiently against the desk as fast and hard as rain pounding on glass. He was finished, had been for the past ten minutes, and without the distraction of the exam he was beginning feel like his skin was getting too tight for his bones.

The desk seemed so much more restricting than it had been a second ago, the room seemed colder, caressing prickles out of his skin. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, soldiers standing to attention. He kept stealing glances over his shoulder to check if anyone was watching, to check if there were any yellow eyes watching.

 _If he can get in your head, he can find you anywhere._

The clock was _tick tick ticking_ by. All clocks are counting down to detonation, Sam thought. Rational-Sam wouldn't have had such morbid thoughts but Rational-Sam was only an occasional visitor and had been for a long time. He'd been taken over by a Sam that tripped over too many legs. Octopus-Sam, that was his name, a great multitasker when it came to being crazy.

 _Crazy crazy crazy brain. Do you listen to what goes on inside your head, psycho-Sammy?_

Sam told himself to shut up, he didn't care what he had to say. He wanted to go home, he wanted to curl up under the bed and block the world out. _If you can't see it, it isn't there_. Next to him, Clem yawned wide, a great, deep cavern, and sat up. Sam gripped her leash tightly in his hand and squeezed his eyes shut.

 _If you can't see it, it isn't happening._

But every time he closed his eyes he saw his dream again. It played for him like a broken movie reel; each time it was meant to roll to credits it started over again. Every time he thought about his brother and dad he saw their bodies going cold on metal tables, all maggoty and soft-stiff. It was even worse when he looked at them with his eyes instead of his brain.

 _They'll die because of you. Didn't they say you were a killer? A monster?_

Sam didn't know what to do. No one would believe him if he said that his dream hadn't really been a dream, that the movie had in fact been a documentary. They would tell him that he needed to take more pills, they would tell him it was all in his head. There's no cure for crazy, why didn't anyone understand?

Sam _knew_ this time that this wasn't in his head.

He jerked when the bell rang out, a shriek-whistle that tried to worm its way into Sam's head. Sam covered his ears. Everyone put down their pens and sat back with relief, but Sam was hunched forward, fingers curled tight around his earlobes, clawing into his hair. Tears strained to fall, but Sam was determined for a drought, it couldn't be rainy season when there were people around to get soaked.

He didn't notice his foot was tapping loudly until the person next to him asked if he was alright. He stared at their concerned face for a moment, thinking of how _concern_ twisted the skin into another face, then he quickly looked away. He couldn't look them in the eye. He couldn't look anyone in the eye.

"I spy yellow eyes," Sam muttered, then he shook his head. _If you can't see it, it isn't real._

"If you could all remain in your seat until the papers have been collected," someone announced from the front, voice all humming and thrumming. Sam clasped his hands tighter over his ears and he slipped out of his desk and made for the exit as fast as he could. A gazelle sprinting away from a lion's jaws.

"Sam? Samuel, please sit back down," someone shouted after him, "Samuel?"

He probably would have left Clem behind if her leash hadn't already been wrapped tightly in his hand, linked up to his ears. She bounded alongside him, huffing and whining at him, trying to tug on the lead for him to stop. Sam kept moving and she had no choice but to follow him out of the building, past the carpark and onto the street.

He wondered where Dean was. His brother had been like a bee that morning, buzzing around Sam like he was a spring flower. Sam had been afraid of being stung when he shouldn't have begrudged the bee for doing its job –

What was he thinking about again?

Sam felt himself shudder, and he realised he was crying, salty tears dripped down his cheeks. Someone passing by stared at him, frowning. They paused and asked if he was okay, everyone's asking _okay okay okay_ , Sam sprinted in the opposite direction, finding his way to the park, his name echoed down the street after him. There was a quiet place behind the pond, a small gathering of rocks and trees where Sam lay himself down to cry in the dirt.

 _They're going to die. Oh god. They're all going to die._

 _And it will be your fault. You did this. You should be dead._

 _I didn't know. I didn't_ know.

Clementine nudged at his face, whining. She licked away his tears and pressed her warm body against his, he wrapped one of his eight arms around her, feeling her fur between his fingers, rubbing the softness against his skin. He wanted to go home. He wanted his brother to come and get him.

But he needed to stay away. He needed them to be safe. Away from him.

"Stay away from who?"

Sam jolted upright. Rachel was leaning against a tree trunk, gazing down at him curiously. "I hope you don't mean me," she said, smiling. Sam just gaped at her. She was a teleporter, she had to be, there was no other explanation for her ability to pop up when he least expected. Maybe she had wings, like an angel…

"How did you – "

"Find you?" she asked, "Well, I was walking by when I heard someone weeping in the bushes. Wanna tell me why you're weeping in the bushes?"

"I'm not _weeping_ ," Sam argued, wiping at his tears, "It's not supposed to be rainy season."

"If you say so," Rachel chuckled. Sam looked away, embarrassed, and tried to scrambled to his feet.

"I have to go," he mumbled. Dean would be waiting for him.

"Do you?" Rachel sounded sad, "It's just - do you want to hang out with me?"

Sam paused and looked at her. She looked sincere, he didn't understand why she would want to spend time with him, Octopus-Sam and his eight-thoughts-a-second. He always ruined things, hadn't she noticed?

Still, Sam found himself saying, "What do you want to do?"

Rachel grinned. "I've got some ideas," she said, and held out her hand. He glanced at it as she wiggled her fingers. Those were restless fingers, fingers with a purpose, fingers on a hand that knew where it was going.

Sam took it.

* * *

Dean dashed through the front doors, skidding to a halt at the front desk.

"I know! I know I'm late," he blurted to the receptionist, "But I got held up at work, please tell me he hasn't been waiting for too long."

She blinked at him. "You mean Sam?"

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yeah, I mean Sam."

Her face paled a little and Dean felt his smile freeze on his face. "What? What's wrong?"

"Well," she began, swallowing, "Sam already left."

"He what?!"

She gulped and skidded back on her chair, fingers reaching for the desk phone. "I can't be sure, but I saw him hurry by at the end of the test before everyone else left. I thought… I'm so sorry. I'll call one of the exam-holders that was sitting in Sam's test."

"Yeah, you do that," Dean said a little coldly. She dialled a number and whispered into the phone, glancing at Dean now and then as he paced the lobby. He dialled Sam's number three times, each time it rang to voicemail. Eventually, the receptionist hung up and confirmed that Sam had definitely already left and would Dean like for them to call the police to help search?

"No way, lady," Dean snapped, "You people aren't messing this up any more than you already have," he stormed towards the door but stopped and glared back at her, "I trusted you people to keep him safe!"

Then he pushed his way through the exit, leaving the door swinging on its hinges. He dropped behind the wheel of the Impala, drumming his fingers across its leather for a moment as he thought. A quick call informed his dad of the situation and the two of them decided to cover half of the town each. Dean turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot, he headed for the park.

Sam liked the park. Dean thought maybe it was the openness of it, after two years locked up in a room underground Sam was bound to crave the open sky. And maybe it was how normal the park was, how Sam could walk his dog there like any other person. If Sam was anywhere, it would have been there.

Dean followed the stone path, scanning the open fields, stopping by the play area. He even checked in the plastic play tunnels, there were two little girls braiding their hair hiding in there, but no Sam. He was starting to regret the choice to allow Sam more independence. If he'd accompanied Sam to the park more often, then maybe he'd know his favourite spots.

"Dean?" he turned around to find Casey, the checkout girl from work, hurrying over to him.

"It's not a good time right now, Case," Dean said apologetically.

"Looking for Sam?" she said knowingly, "I've been looking for him too. I saw him on the main street and he didn't look so good. When I asked him if he was okay, he took off in this direction."

Dean felt his heart pick up. "How long ago was this?"

"Um… twenty minutes, I think," she guessed, "I'd just finished my shift when I saw him. Do you need help finding him?"

He wasn't used to letting outsiders help with Sam, but Dean trusted Casey, she was a good friend, she'd helped with Sam a couple of times in the past. And Sam knew her, she'd be far less frightening than a cop if she found him. "Yeah, that would be great," Dean said thankfully, "Would you mind driving 'round the edge of town in case he wandered off that far?"

"I'm on it," she said. She jogged by with a quick pat on his shoulder. Dean went on looking. He dialled Sam's number a few more times, it was on the fifth attempt that he heard ringing. He followed the sound to a small gathering of trees, at the centre of which lay Sam's abandoned cell.

* * *

"You never had a beer before?"

Sam glared down at the glass. The liquid was brown and bubbling into a foam settling on top. He leaned forward against the bar and sniffed, he pulled back and wrinkled his nose. "It smells like sour bread," he remarked. Behind him, the bar door opened and Sam jerked around. It was just another truck hat-wearer joining the hive, only these bees didn't obsess over flowers.

"It tastes better the more you drink it," Rachel advised, "But anyway, no one drinks it for the taste."

Sam nodded, listening, still watching the bubbles.

"Do any of them escape?" he asked, "Or do they all get trapped under the roof of their dead siblings?"

He looked up for an answer, the bartender had already wandered off so he turned to Rachel. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"You sure you haven't had any yet?" she asked, a smile bubbling under the surface, Sam smiled when it broke free.

"If I drink it then maybe they'll be free," he pondered, "They'll be in me and we'll be free together."

Rachel just sipped at her own beer, Sam did the same. He had to force it down it was so bitter, and it really did taste like bread, but not in a good way, there was no way butter could make beer taste nice.

"How much do we have to drink before we're happy?" he asked.

Rachel almost choked into her drink. "Well, I guess it's different for everyone," she said, "But if you want to be happy then I suggest tequila."

She signalled the bartender over and he set down two tiny glasses and filled them with liquid sun. Sam marvelled at the yellow-ness of it, he'd seen his dad and brother drink stuff like this but it had never really made them happy. Rachel tipped it back and swallowed it whole. Sam reached out to do the same but she caught his wrist.

"It's strong, alright?" she warned, "Just… don't choke on it."

Sam nodded and took a deep breath like he was preparing to dive into the shot glass head first. He pinched it between his fingers and let every last drop tumble down his throat. He had to clamp his hand over his mouth to stop it from coming back up and nearly toppled off the chair in the process. Someone caught his arm and held him steady. He kept it all down and straightened himself up, eyes stinging.

"I didn't like that," he gasped, "It burned my throat."

Rachel laughed as she pulled him over to an empty pool table and began setting up a game. Sam remembered Dean taking him to bars when he was younger so he could hustle. Sam would sit on a stool behind Dean and watch him work, sometimes, when there was no one to con, Dean would play a game with Sam.

Clementine nudged at his leg and whined, Sam patted her on the head. "Just a little while," he promised. She huffed and sat down at his feet. Halfway through the game, Sam felt lighter, the bubbles had risen up and settled in his brain. It tickled, making everything a little wonky and Sam was beginning to forget what he was so upset about, or he still remembered but he didn't care so much anymore.

"I think it's working," he whispered to Rachel, "I think I'm happy."

She grinned at him. "I'm glad you're happy, Sam," she said, leaning over the table to take her turn. She just missed.

"I can give you some pointers, little lady," a truck hat-wearer said, he bent forward and placed his arms around her in a way that made Sam's skin grow hot. Rachel slipped out from under him and backed away towards Sam.

"No thanks," she snapped.

"Come on," the man sighed, "It's just a little fun. Ain't that right, kid?"

Sam startled when he realised the man was talking to him. He shook his head and glanced down.

"Not much of a talker, huh?" Truck Hat chortled, he turned back to Rachel, "He's not much company for a pretty girl like you, darlin'. Why don't you come sit with me?"

"No thank you," Rachel repeated, harder that time. But Truck Hat wasn't listening, he was getting too close to her, reaching out grabbing hands like a kid in candy store. Sam pushed her behind himself.

"She said no," he growled. The man blinked at him, then burst out laughing.

"Let the grown-ups talk, kid."

"She said _no_."

The man cocked his head to the side, eyes glinting. "What are you gonna do about it, huh?"

A smirk crept across Sam's face. "Sir, you don't want to find out."

Truck Hat sighed, "I guess I'm going to have to teach you a lesson, huh? Why don't we take this outside so the lady can see who the real man is?"

"If that's what you want," Sam said, shrugging. Inside, the bubbles where multiplying, filling his heart, making him restless and eager.

He watched the man exit the bar, then made to follow, but Rachel caught his arm. "Sam, you don't have to do this, okay? We can sneak out the back, come on."

She tugged him in the opposite direction but Sam rooted his feet to the ground. "Sam, please. That guy's twice your size. He could kill you!"

Sam snorted. "Or I could kill him."

She blinked at him. "Sam, you're not thinking straight. _Please_."

Sam yanked his arm out of her grip and headed for the door, he heard her huff anxiously and follow after. Rachel caught up to his side, Clem's leash in hand, still begging him to walk away.

"Not a coward then," Truck Hat said once he saw them, "But you're definitely an idiot."

Rachel stood by the wall, holding onto Clementine tightly as she tried to go after Sam. She was confused and started barking to get Sam's attention. Sam cracked his knuckles and bounced on the balls of his feet.

"First one to give up loses," Truck Hat said smugly, "You're in for a ride, boy."

He lashed out unexpectedly and maybe if Sam hadn't drunk anything then he might have seen it coming, but the fist smacked hard into his right cheekbone and he nearly toppled to the floor. He heard Rachel yelp and Clem started snarling, claws scraping at the concrete as she tried to run over to help. Sam felt where the skin was already beginning to swell and he stood up straight, only to meet Truck Hat's fist again.

"Please! Please stop!" he heard Rachel shriek, "Just leave him alone, please!"

"Sorry, little lady," Truck Hat chuckled, "But I gotta teach the kid a lesson."

Sam licked his lip, feeling where the skin split, he tasted blood. Something in him woke up, the fighter in him remembered himself. Sam straightened himself up again and swiftly dodged the next hit, he weaved around as Truck Hat continued to throw punches.

"I could do this all day, boy!"

Sam sneered at him and ducked under another punch, coming up behind the man and delivering a swift kick to the back of his knee. Truck Hat yelped and fell, Sam didn't waste any time before shoving his palm upwards under the man's nose, hearing a satisfying crack.

"Don't call me boy," Sam leaned in and whispered as the man cupped his broken nose. He stepped back, waiting for the man to get back on his feet. He staggered upright, glaring at Sam dangerously.

"You'll regret that, _boy_ ," he snarled, spitting blood to the side. He rushed forwards again like bull on the rampage, Sam danced to the side and stuck his foot out, sending his opponent back to the ground.

"You think it's okay to touch girl without permission?" Sam growled, "You think it's ever okay to touch anyone without their permission?"

"I was just talking," the man argued.

"You were always _just_ ," Sam snapped, "You never think it's bad, as long as you can make up an excuse. Well, you can't just take people! You can't snatch children from their families and dig around inside of them! You can't make a person into a weapon!"

The man froze and stared at Sam. "I have no idea what you're talking about, kid."

"You're all the same," Sam said bitterly, "People who think they can have what they want. People like you destroyed _everything_. You can't do that to children. You can't do that to me!"

Truck Hat slowly raised his hands. "Okay, kid," he relented, "I give up. Maybe you should go home… I'm sorry for – "

Sam threw his fist out and smacked the man's head to the side. "Excuses," he spat. He smiled down at the man, "I was made for this, they made me for this. I was meant to make the world safer, keep away the monsters like you."

"I don't know what you're – "

Another hit and the man went down to his hands and knees. Sam kept going until one of the man's eyes was swollen shut. He laughed, he could do this forever if it meant Rachel was safe, if it meant everyone was safe from people who take. Octopus-Sam, the Sam that tripped over his own thoughts, that couldn't look people in the eye, that cowered under his bed, that Sam was pathetic. Why had Sam ever been like that when he could have been strong and powerful?

Sam was a saviour; just like they'd made him to be –

"No," Sam stopped, dropping his fist, "This is all wrong… I wasn't meant to…" he glanced around, the man cowered below him, Rachel stared at him with a hand over her mouth, Clementine barked frantically, "I'm so sorry."

He backed away, looked away when Rachel flinched, he carefully reached out and took the leash from her. Clem pawed at him and whined, asking if he was okay. "I'm sorry, Rachel," Sam said, he noticed a waitress appear from the corner of his eye, snaking a comforting arm around Rachel's shoulder.

He ran.

* * *

"Dad, we need to do something," Dean said, phone gripped in his hand, finger lingering on 9.

"Either we look for him," John suggested for the millionth time, he placed his own phone down on the table, "Or we call the cops for help, but we know we can't involve the cops."

"He's out there on his own," Dean rubbed a hand over his brow, "What if he gets hurt, what if someone hurts him or, or…"

"No one's taking him," John promised, "Not ever again."

"But he's not here, is he, Dad," Dean snapped, "He's gone. I was supposed to pick him up and he's gone! God, and I think he's sick… well, sicker. I don't think he's been right since that freaking nightmare."

John glances away and sighs. "We'll check all over town again," he said, "He can't have gone far if he's sick."

Dean shook his head. "Remember in Sioux Falls when he was spitting his pills?" he pointed out, "The kid wandered all the way into town with no shoes on _and_ ended up in hospital with a one-way ticket to the psych ward."

John swallowed, then nodded, and got to his feet. Both of them froze when they heard a bark coming from outside.

"Clem," they both said, hurrying to the front door. Sam was huddled on the front lawn under the street light, the dog whined and barked at John and Dean frantically.

"Sammy!" Dean bolted over and crouched down, gently tipping Sam's chin to look at him. He froze, feeling anger coil at his insides when he noticed the bruises.

"Who did this?" he demanded, "What happened?"

"I just wanted to be happy and forget," Sam said quietly, "Rachel said bars are fun."

"Bar?" Dean paused, leaning forward, sure enough there was the familiar smell of smoke and alcohol, "You went to a bar?"

Sam nodded solemnly.

"Did you drink?" Dean asked, trying to feign calm.

Sam nodded again.

"Jesus, Sam!" John exclaimed, "You're not supposed to be anywhere near alcohol with your medication."

"I just wanted to free them, you know? Be happy," Sam whispered.

"How did you get hurt, Sam?" John asked.

"He was trying to touch her but he didn't even ask and she didn't like it," Sam said, tears were starting to fall, "I told him not to but he didn't listen. He wanted to fight so we went outside."

"You got into a _fight?"_

"I couldn't stop hitting him," Sam sobbed, "It wasn't right. I'm not meant to be like that."

"Sam, I cannot believe – " Dean began, but John cut him off.

"Let's get him inside first, clean him up," he said. The two of them, hauled Sam upright and lead him inside, settling him down at the kitchen table. Dean let Clem off her leash and she hurried straight back to Sam's side. Sam's hands were shaking as John cleaned up his bloody, split knuckles. Dean winced, whoever Sam had been fighting was probably lucky he wasn't going home in a black bag.

"I just wanted to protect her," Sam said softly, "I think she's scared of me now."

Dean sat down beside him. "You mean Rachel?" he asked. Sam nodded.

"Sammy, I don't think you should see her anymore," Dean suggested, "Just until you're feeling better."

Sam didn't say anything so Dean continued.

"I'm gonna ask you something," he said, "Have you been tonguing your meds?"

He paused, waiting for an answer. There was a sharp pain in his ribs and he felt the air go out of him as he was shoved backwards and onto the floor. Dean gasped and looked up, his little brother was on his feet, glaring down at him, looking ready to step forward. John grabbed Sam by the shoulders and pushed him back into the seat, keeping his grip secure. Sam blinked dazedly then looked back over as Dean was getting to his feet.

Sam face crumpled as he stared down at his shaking hands. "I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry!"

Dean glanced over to his Dad who looked just as worried as he felt. John rubbed Sam's shoulders and hushed him gently, letting his son turn and bury his face in his chest to cry.

"What's wrong with me?" Sam asked them.

Dean didn't have an answer.

* * *

A/N Sorry that it took me forever to get this updated, I know I haven't posted for any of my regular stories in a while but I'm trying to sort that out. Hopefully all my multi-chapter fics will have a new chapter posted in the near future. Thank you very much if you have stuck with me so far, I know the wait between chapters might be enough to put you off but thank you so much to everyone who's still reading. And a special thanks to the reviewers, you guys are wonderful!


	7. Pilgrim

Hello, I am still alive. Yikes... how long has it been since the last chapter? But there's a new one now! Yay! I think things really progress in this one, even if some of it might leave you with plenty questions for now.

* * *

 _March 13_ _th_ _2003_

 _"Farm-boy… fetch me that pitcher."_

 _"As you wish."_

The Princess Bride wasn't exactly the choice Dean would have made, but Sam had insisted. It was a weird movie, but Sam was a weird kid. The choice had been either that or Die Hard - the great thing about Princess Bride was that it didn't seem to show any kind of violence, it was just some soppy, and weird, love movie. Following recent events, Dean had been thorough in his attempts to keep Sam away from anything that might set him off.

No violence. No blood. No pain. Everything had been sunshine and rainbows these past few days thanks to Dean.

His little brother curled up tight at the other end of the couch, he didn't notice Dean watching, too interested in what was playing on TV. His mouth quirked now and then, sometimes he let out a soft laugh.

Dean's plan to keep Sam under house-arrest had been going well, especially given that Sam didn't seem aware that he was under any restrictions, he didn't even seem bothered that Dean checked his mouth after taking meds with similar authority to Nurse Ratchet.

Maybe it was because Sam only seemed to be bothered about one thing: _is Rachel okay?_ That question made Dean a little uncomfortable, it was obvious to him who coerced Sam into going to a bar in the first place and maybe the girl hadn't meant any harm but she wasn't good for Sammy. Sam needed stability and calm, he didn't need adventure or spontaneity. And, gently, Dean had told Sam as much, but it didn't stop the kid from asking.

He'd tried to find the girl to check if she really was alright because Sam's worry was rubbing off on him, but he hadn't been able to find her anywhere. The waitress at the bar had told him that the last time she'd seen Rachel she'd been fine. That information still didn't seem to satisfy Sam.

But thank God for The Princess Bride because it was distracting the kid and Dean hadn't heard one mention of Sammy's girlfriend since the movie had started. At some point, Dean started getting nostalgic, thinking of the time he and Sam had watched the same film years and years ago in some dingy motel on a black and white TV set. He leaned back into the couch and kicked his feet up on the coffee table and laughed along with Sam as the movie played.

He grinned when Inigo Montoya appeared on screen. "Hey, I remember this dude!" Dean exclaimed, "What was it he says?"

Sam scrunched up his face, thinking, then shrugged and turned his attention back to the TV screen.

Dean perked up, remembering. "My name is Inigo Montoya," Dean recited, accent and everything, "You killed my father, prepare to die!"

Sam gave him a soft kick in the leg, laughing. "That's the worst impression ever," he said.

Dean snorted, crossing his arms. "As if you could do better."

"I could," Sam replied confidently, "And I could say it in Spanish. Or Latin. Or German."

"Yeah, I get it, you're a super-genius. No need to rub it in," Dean groused, lightly whacking Sam's shoulder with the back of his hand.

Sam smiled and turned back to the movie again. It was nice, normal, to watch a movie with his little brother, no monsters to hunt, no people to save. Sam twitched beside him and mumbled something about fire under his breath and Dean's moment of normality abruptly ended. He reached out and rubbed Sam's back soothingly until the ticks died down and he stopped talking to himself.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"Good," Sam chirped, "Like a bird with the sky under its wings."

That made Dean smile, Sammy-speak could be nice to hear on a good day. Normal was totally overrated. There was some more wacky comedy from the movie that had Sam laughing and Dean felt it was safe to leave him on the couch for a few minutes while he went to the kitchen, and maybe the kitchen was in the same room but Dean had been glued to Sam the past few days, turning his back on his kid brother was a big step.

He found a beer at the back of the fridge and grabbed a soda for Sam, the one that tasted like cherries that the kid couldn't seem to get enough of. _Tastes like kisses_ , Sam would tell him. Dean rummaged around a little in the cupboards for any movie snacks, feeling triumphant when he found a forgotten bag of pretzels behind a tin of beans.

He was emptying them into a bowl when a cry sounded from behind. He spun around, a kitchen knife in his hand, looking for the threat. He relaxed a little when he realised it was coming from the TV, but the tension built up again when he noticed the hero of the movie was being tortured, and Sam was sitting up straight, watching.

Dean hurried over, Sam was staring at the screen, horror twisting his face. Clementine, who had been snoozing on the carpet by Sam's feet was nudging him gently with her nose.

"They're hurting him, Dean," Sam whispered like he didn't dare raise his voice any higher, "They're hurting him."

Dean scrambled for the remote, flicking the TV off just as the hero of the story was about to meet a grisly end. Sam was shaking a little, ducking his head into his hands. "They don't care, they don't care if it hurts him," he cried softly.

Dean sat beside him, hesitantly reach out to place a hand on Sam's shoulder. "It's just a movie, it's not real," Dean promised.

Sam shook his head. "It is real, it happened, I was there, I saw it happen to…" he trails off, thinking, "It hurt. It still hurts."

A tear slipped down Sam's cheek, Dean wiped it away with his sleeve. "You're not there anymore, remember?" he said gently, "They can't hurt you anymore."

Sam looked up and stared at Dean, his mouth hanging open like he was about to speak. He closed it again, looking down.

"Not them and not me," he whispered, "It's not my bones they want to shake."

* * *

 _March 14_ _th_ _2003_

Sam lay in bed, the rising sun cast soft light through the crack between his curtains. He was tired, a fatigue that settled deep beneath his skin, but he couldn't sleep. If he slept, the dreams came. The yellow-eyed man hadn't returned but the images he'd shown to Sam remained.

He glanced at his bedside drawer where he kept his neglected sleeping pills. He'd flush them when he could, but it was difficult these days with Dean breathing down his neck. Breathing, breathing was good, Sam had to keep Dean breathing. His dad, too.

At the end of the bed, Clem rolled over with a sleepy huff and settled down again.

Sam sat up and leaned over, stroking gently over her back. "You keep me safe, I keep you safe," he whispered to her, "We keep them safe."

She peeked an eye open at him then sat up on her haunches, yawning widely, she licked his nose. Sam took that as an agreement.

"Whatever it takes," he said, "Whatever it takes to keep them safe. Spin the dial, forget the code, no one can get in."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting and rubbing his tired eyes, then he padded across the carpet and pulled open the curtains. The window was cracked open slightly, letting the smell of the early hours of the morning drift through. It was fresh with morning dew outside, Sam breathed it in and felt free for a moment. The sky was a brilliant mix of oranges, reds, purples and pinks.

"Liar, liar, skies on fire," Sam hummed.

He pulled on some thick wool socks, wiggling his wander-lusting toes, and headed for the bathroom, passing Dean's door where soft snores rumbled behind it, he imagined Dean all twisted up in his blankets with his mouth hanging open. The thought made him laugh to himself. Sam squinted when he flicked the bright bathroom light on and navigated around the cabinet for his pills, he washed them down, then brushed his teeth before making his way to the kitchen.

"Morning, Sammy."

His dad's voice nearly sent Sam leaping out of his own skin. John was sitting quietly at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and reading the paper. Sam rubbed at his eyes, pulling a cereal box from the cupboard.

"Thought you were asleep," Sam said, pouring cornflakes into a bowl, "I forgot you get up with the sun. She's feeling passionate this morning, I think."

John huffed a small chuckle. "Yeah, it's a beautiful sunrise. What are you doing up so earlier? You usually get up about an hour from now with Dean."

Sam looked away, focusing on a flake of cereal that missed the bowl. A lone traveller, Sam thought. "I guess the sun couldn't wait," he said, shrugging, "She wants everyone up to see her. She brought freedom this morning."

His dad gave him a strange look but kept his mouth shut, but Sam could see the words buzzing around inside his closed mouth like angry bees. Maybe Sam was tripping over his eight arms without realising, Rational-Sam was likely on vacation.

"It's a nice day," Sam amended, pouring milk over his cereal, the cornflake-soldiers drowned. He sat down opposite John to eat.

"You feeling okay, Sammy?" his dad asked.

Sam nodded, mouth stuffed with dead cornflakes. People had been asking him that question a lot lately. _Okay okay okay?_ Sam wasn't sure why. He was fine, wasn't he? As fine as someone could be when a demon threatened to kill their family, Sam thought he was doing alright.

 _Okay okay okay, psycho-Sammy?_

 _Sammy is always anything but okay, aren't ya?_

 _It's because you're insane and you always will be… insane sickness in that brain…_

Sam curled his fist and willed the voices to be quieter. If they got any louder his dad would hear them, he was sure of it. And maybe he had because John was staring at him with a concerned look on his face.

"Sam?" he asked, placing his newspaper down on the table.

"Fine. I'm fine, fine is mine," Sam said hurriedly, dropping his spoon into his bowl and pushing out from the table. He could feel his dad's worry curling around the room, trying to grip at him. Empathy, the worst psychic power ever, Sam was sure of it, it was no use except in making things unbearable. It hadn't been this potent in a while and his head was cluttering up more than usual. He hastily made an exit, hurrying right by Dean's door as he heard him stir inside and turn off his alarm.

Clem wasn't in Sam's bedroom anymore, he only realised then that he'd forgotten to feed her, she was probably bothering John for some food right now. Good. Sam didn't want to see anyone, he didn't want to _feel_ anyone, and he shut his door, securing it with the back of the chair under the handle.

Sam crawled under his bed. He shouldn't be able to fit under there but he made it work, he was a master when it came to turning invisible if need be. Lying on his back, staring up at the wooden panels beneath his mattress, he began to pray.

"God, keep my head clean," he whispered, "Keep my family safe, save them from the fire. Liar liar God on fire… amen."

"Sammy?" the door handle rattled for a moment, then there was a sharp shove and the chair toppled over. The door eased open and Sam watched Dean's bare feet move carefully across the carpet. He stopped by the bed and crouched down, he smiled when he caught Sam's eye. "You're too big to fit under there, your feet are poking out."

"Maybe they don't want to hide like the rest of me," Sam reasoned.

"And why is the rest of you hiding?" Dean asked tentatively. "Dad said you seemed… like you're not feeling well."

 _Not feeling well? Is that what they're calling 'crazy' these days?_

 _He wants to lock you up, straight-jacket and all, he wants you locked up._

 _You can't trust him with the truth, he can't handle it._

"I'm fine," Sam answered.

Dean pursed his lips, gazing at Sam for a moment longer before nodding. "Alright. But do you think you can come out from under there?"

"In a minute."

Dean nodded again and reluctantly got to his feet. He left the room, leaving the door slightly open. Sam closed his eyes and remained where he was, trying to clear his mind, the way Pamela had taught him. Find the leak in his mind and stitch it back up, that's what Pamela had said.

He took a deep breath. Someone next door was mowing their lawn, the scent of cut grass drifted in through his bedroom window. He took another breath. He had changed his bed sheets yesterday and they still smelled like detergent. Another deep breath. The thick, clogging smell of smoke.

Sam opened his eyes. Even under the bed he could see the fog in the room.

"Fire…" he muttered, still getting his bearings. Instantly, his heart picked up, hammering against his rib cage in his haste to scramble out from under the bed.

Everything was heavy with smoke and he could barely see a few steps in front of him.

"Dad! Dean!" he yelled, but the smoke swallowed up any strength his voice had and he choked on it. He had to hurry, they could be burning by now, just like his mother. The demon had warned him; if Sam didn't play its games then it would take away his family. It had come to take them away.

"Come to take them away, come to take them away…" Sam repeated it like a mantra, the only thing that kept him breathing as he stumbled into the hallway.

"Sammy?" he could hear his name being called on the other side of the black smoke wall.

"Dean!" Sam cried, half with relief and half with urgency.

"Sam!"

"It's come to take you away, come to take you away. Dean, Dad, Dean, Dad, I can't let it take you away," Sam sobbed, coughing as he took in more smoke. He jolted when he felt someone's hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. He couldn't see a thing; his eyes were stinging with sharp tears.

"Come on, Sammy," the voice said, it sounded like his dad. Sam sank down with relief. He's alive, they're both alive. "Look at me, Sam."

"I can't see!" Sam exclaimed, eyes squeezed shut against the stinging smoke, "We have to get out!"

"Open your eyes, bud," John encouraged. Sam felt a weight beside him, an arm wrap around his shoulders, a breathing chest against his cheek, "Come back to us, Sammy."

Sam frowned, his dad wasn't making sense. Maybe that was an effect of smoke inhalation, maybe Sam was too late after all. He opened his eyes.

The air was clean. There was no sign of smoke, not even from overdone toast. The room was cool, no fiery heat building, no clogging smoke, no evidence of any fire. He blinked tears from his eyes, taking in deep, gulping breaths, looking around the room more than once, just to be sure.

He was in his dad's arms; John's hands were rubbing gently at his back. Sam looked up, Dean was staring down at them, worried, shifting from foot-to-foot.

"I don't – " Sam felt like he owed some sort of explanation but he came up short. Even Rational-Sam had no words. He settled with, "I don't understand."

"What don't you understand?" Dean asked gently, like Sam was simple. Dean never spoke to Sam like that.

"The fire," Sam choked out, "The smoke. Everything was burning."

"There's no fire, Sammy," Dean told him, he looked pitying.

"There was," Sam insisted, "I could feel it. It was eating everything up, insatiable. Unstable…"

His dad pulled him in a little tighter and Sam felt tiny despite being the tallest of the three. Dean swallowed hard and said, "There was no fire. It was just in your head."

"It wasn't," Sam insisted lamely, "It was real."

Dean sighed. He seemed frustrated. "Sam, if there was a fire I think we'd fucking know, alright?"

"Dean!" John snapped.

Dean blinked at him and shrugged. "What? He's been lying to us, Dad. He's spitting his pills. Again."

"I'm not!" Sam defended. It wasn't entirely true. He wasn't taking his sleeping pills, but that wasn't important. He _was_ taking the important pills, the ones that were supposed to stop things like this from happening. It wasn't Sam's fault if they weren't working anymore.

"Sam," John sighed, grip loosening, "Be honest. We won't be mad. We just need you to tell us the truth."

"I _am_ telling the truth!" Sam snapped. He shoved himself away from where he was leaning against his dad on the floor and got to his feet, levelling his brother and father with a glare.

"Jesus, Sammy…" Dean sighed tiredly. He took a breath, seemingly calming himself. "You won't mind if we check your room, then?"

Sam felt himself squirm. They were going to find the sleeping pills. "I don't mind, not in my mind," Sam hastily lied. He glanced down at Clem, she sat dutifully at his feet, waiting for a command. He wished he could tell her to distract Dean and Dad while he cleared his drawers, but he would bet that she'd be on their side. The little traitor.

There was no coherent thought in his mind as he made a dash for his room. He needed to get there first. But Dean was hot on his heels. And even though Sam made it to his room first, quick enough to slam the door closed, there was no lock on the door. Of course, Sam wasn't allowed a lock. If he were, it would be on the outside. He held his body against it, trying to keep Dean from shoving his way in, he stretched out his foot in an attempt to open the drawer. It was at times like these that he wished his psychic brain worked the way it should.

If only he could move the pills with his mind. If only.

Sam went hurling forward, landing on his front hard enough to graze his palms on the carpet.

"Damn it, Sam!" he heard Dean curse behind him. Sam flipped himself over, Dean and Dad were glaring down at the drawer and the little pills that skittered about inside from the jarring impact of Sam pulling it out of the cabinet.

"Those are the sleeping pills," John pointed out quietly, looking down at Dean worriedly. Dean seemed to catch on to whatever sickly thought John had because he looked completely heartbroken. Sam could feel it so prominently in himself that he thought he might burst into tears. Dean's tears. The empathy hadn't been so strong in a long time.

"Why are you collecting sleeping pills, Sam?" Dean demanded, "What were you going to do with these?"

Sam was confused for a moment. "Do with them?" he repeated, not following. Then it made sense, the emotions Sam was feeling made sense.

"I wasn't going to!" Sam promised frantically, getting to his feet. Dean gathered up the pills and moved them out of Sam's sight. "I really wasn't going to do… _that_. I swear. I just… didn't want to take them. I was going to throw them away, not… take them. Please believe me. You'd believe old Sam, but I'm still him, I'm just not fifteen anymore, or sane… I guess. And I think I look like I have extra tentacles today but I only have eight, as usual…"

He trailed off. The looks on their faces suggested that he wasn't making much sense.

"I'm calling the doctor," Dean said, turning to leave the room.

"No… No! You can't! I'm fine!" Sam cried desperately. "Lime, dime, _fine!"_

Dean stopped and looked at him. "You're sick, Sam," he said softly, "And I'm sorry I got mad at you. I know it's not your fault, but you need help, okay?"

"I don't need help!" Sam yelled. Dean didn't even flinch, just sighed and headed for the phone. Sam was about to go after him but he felt his dad's hand grab his shoulder, keeping him still.

"Go to your room, Sam," he said, "I'll be in in a minute."

Sam sighed. There was no point arguing. His family were more stubborn than a burning house. You could never put their fires out once they got going. He sank down onto the edge of his bed. Clementine sat dutifully by the door. Traitor.

A book lay haphazardly on the carpet and Sam nudged it with his toe.

"Hello, little wanderer," he said to it, "How did you get away from home?"

He scooped it up and turned to the bookshelf to put it back. He paused. The bookshelf was empty. Glancing back down, he found all of the books lying on the carpet.

"Is this a pilgrimage?" he asked them. He glanced back at the empty bookshelf. His books were beginning to run away from him, his day was getting worse and worse and it wasn't even midday yet.

 _You really are crazy, psycho-Sam._

 _Books can't move on their own, dumbass._

 _What if they did move on their own? You can't trust them._

 _But think. What if_ you _moved them?_

Sam frowned at the thought. "What if I moved them?" he muttered, "Not with my hands... what if my brain did it?"

He glanced back down to the floor. The carpet was clear, nothing there but the blue rug. Sam felt a sudden weight in his arms, the books were piled in his grip, like they'd never been anywhere else. In front of him, the last book sat in the air. Sam gasped and the book dropped with a thud, followed by the books he was holding, his arms had gone weak.

"Huh," Sam muttered to himself. He glanced to where Clem had been sitting by the door. She was up and pacing, restless. She could feel the static in the air just like Sam could, it tickled his hairs, stood them on end.

"That's new," he said.

* * *

Thank you so much for sticking with me on this painfully slowly updated story, I hope the chapters are worth waiting for. Reviews are appreciated very much! :)


	8. Snake in the Grass

This chapter contains some delicate issues so here are some warnings: Implied suicide attempt (not the boys) and issues with consent.

* * *

 _March 15_ _th_ _2003_

Someone was crying. He could feel it. Somewhere in the building, someone was in pain. A pain that stood out from the rest. This place was full of pain, this was a psychiatric hospital, after all. Sam tried to ignore it, the feeling of tears welling up and the lump in his throat, he turned to look out the window. The city was bustling below them, he watched people scurry around like ants.

"Sam, are you listening to me?" the doctor said, sharp enough to get his attention but soft enough to be gentle, she must have been talking to him for a while.

"No," Sam replied bluntly. He turned back to the window. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the doctor stand up and cross the room to sit next to him on the couch. She leaned over the back of it to look out the window with him.

"What's so interesting down there?" she asked.

Sam shrugged. "Just people," he told her, "All the strings they tag along with them, the way they tangle with each other and don't even know it. We're all connected, even if it's just in a small way."

"I think so, too," the doctor said, "We all have an impact on one another. Especially to those closest to us. Have you thought much about how your family is feeling?"

Sam smirked. "I don't have to _think_ about how anyone feels, I just know it," he explained. "It kinda sucks."

She didn't reply to that, probably too busy writing down notes in her head, shrinking Sam down. Beside him, Clementine observed the conversation quietly.

"I know that your brother and your dad are quite upset that you've been neglecting your medication," the doctor said. "They were worried that you were going to use those sleeping pills to take your own life."

Sam finally looked at her. "I wasn't going to do that," he said, frowning. "I keep telling people that but no one listens."

"Then why did you keep them stashed in your drawer?"

Sam turned back to look out of the window. "I didn't want to sleep."

"And why's that?"

"Nightmares."

The doctor was quiet for a moment. She sat up and placed a hand on Sam's arm to get his attention. Reluctantly, he looked away from the window.

"I believe you, Sam," she said, "But I need to know about these nightmares. They must be pretty bad if you're too afraid to sleep, huh?"

Sam nods, looking down at his hands, fiddling with Clem's leash.

 _She doesn't believe you, she's lying, she just wants to lock you up._

 _But she seems nice, I think she's trying to help._

 _No! She's not! Stop her before she hurts you, take her down._

Sam clenched his hands together tightly around Clem's leash, letting his nails dig into his skin. Clem seemed to notice his distress and placed a paw on his knee, letting out a sharp bark. The doctor placed her hands over his, gently prying them apart.

"What's upsetting you just now?" she asked gently.

"Nothing."

"Are you hearing things?"

Reluctantly, Sam gave a short nod.

"What are the voices telling you?" she asked.

Sam glanced up to her face, she stared at him patiently, he looked away, avoiding her. He couldn't say, she would be afraid of him if he did, and then he'd definitely be locked away for good. He couldn't be locked up, not again, never again. Sam wouldn't be able to take it.

"Sam, I know all about what happened to you when you were fifteen, and the two years after," the doctor said. Sam snorted, he doubted she knew _all about_ it. "I know you're afraid of doctors, it's understandable, but you must realise that no one here would ever mean to harm you."

"That's what they told me last time," Sam blurted, he dared to look up at her. "They told us they were helping us and look," he gestured to his head, "look what they did. You must realise that I find it hard to believe that no one here would ever mean to harm me."

"Do the voices tell you that?" the doctor asked.

 _It's not us. You make up your own mind, isn't that right?_

 _Psycho, psycho, psycho Sammy, you haven't got a clue._

 _Don't listen to them!_

 _She wants to lock you away. Stop her!_

"They say you're going to lock me up," Sam said, his voice trembled.

 _Traitor! Traitor! Traitor!_

 _You're so stupid, I can't believe you did that!_

 _Let her help!_

 _Stop talking! Stop talking!_

Sam ignored them. "They're telling me not to say anything," he said shakily, "They think you want to hurt me."

She nodded in understanding. "I don't know if you realise how proud you should be for ignoring them right now and telling me how you feel. You should be very proud."

Sam hitched a breath and wiped at his wet eyes. "They're louder sometimes, quiet other times," he told her, "They won't shut up today."

"That's understandable, given that you're in a strange city today with a doctor at a hospital," she said, "It must be overwhelming. Symptoms often get worse when the person afflicted is feeling pressured or overwhelmed."

"I want them to shut up," Sam sobbed. "I want all of it to stop."

The doctor handed him a tissue and waited while he dabbed at his eyes. "Can you explain what exactly you mean by 'all of it', Sam?" she asked.

"You'll think I'm crazy," Sam said, he let out a weak laugh.

She sighed. "You're not crazy," she said, "And I would never think you are."

 _She's a liar, see?_

 _No, she's helping._

 _No, she's going to hurt you._

"Sam, what are they saying?" the doctor asked. Sam realised he was clenching his hands again.

"The same things," Sam told her.

She nodded. "Can you tell me much more about them?" she asked. She stood up and opened the file that was lying on her desk. "We've established that they turned up about two years ago, you heard things before then but they weren't as constant or prominent. And years before that, before you came to me, you saw a figure. You said the figure had no face, you called it Faceless, and that figure talked to you sometimes. You haven't seen that figure in more than two years, is that still true?"

"Yes," Sam answered, "And I don't want to see him again."

"I can't give an explanation as to why the visual hallucination that was once constant left and was replaced by constant auditory hallucinations. It's possibly due to the drastic change in your life as you settled down with your family. I've talked to you about your diagnosis, do you remember what it was?"

Sam nodded. "Severe psychotic PTSD."

"That's right," the doctor said, "But I hope you realise how well you're doing."

Sam scoffed. "I don't think that hearing voices and seeing imaginary fires counts as doing well."

"Sam, you have a volunteer job in a bookstore, you finished your high school exams," the doctor listed off. "You're doing really well. This is a relapse, and I do think that neglecting your medication has played a hand in it. You're bound to have setbacks now and then but you can improve. I'm talking to you right now, Sam, you're aware and willing to help me help you, these are all good things."

"I suppose," Sam shrugged.

"I want to talk about the voices you hear in more detail, if you don't mind," the doctor went on. "Do they have any characteristics about them? For example, are they male or female or neither? Do they have accents? Are they familiar to anyone you know in real life? Do they tend to say certain types of things to you?"

Sam thought for a moment. "There's mumbling sometimes, or laughing or crying. That's usually quiet, only happens sometimes and I can ignore it. The main ones… there's three of them. Um… definitely one girl, she's usually nice. She argues with the others."

"What about?"

"Um, today, the others said not to trust you but she said you were only trying to help," Sam explained. "Sometimes I think I recognise her voice but I can't think where from."

"And the others?"

"I think they're guys," Sam said slowly, thinking, "One's a little paranoid, always tells me everything is going wrong or trying to hurt me. The other one is kinda mean, keeps calling me names, tells me I'm stupid. I can't tell those two apart sometimes but the second one is the scarier one. It says… violent things sometimes, suggests things I don't want to do."

The doctor nodded. "And how much do you listen to them? Do you ever consider doing what that particular voice tell you to do? Like hurting people?"

"No, never," Sam refused, "I don't want to hurt anyone. It's just… I don't like hearing it even though I ignore it."

There was a long moment of silence. Sam stared at the recording device on the desk and wondered if he shouldn't have stashed some of his secrets in there. He had never even told Dean any of this.

"What happens now?" Sam asked, slumping back into the couch, folding his arms across his chest.

"I suggest taking your medication properly, if there's no change then we'll talk about different medication," she said. She paused, taking a breath, "Sam, I want to suggest you sign in here as an in-patient for a short while."

"No," Sam snapped, jumping up, tugging clem with him as he paced the room, itching to leave.

"Just for a short while," the doctor clarified. "Only to monitor you and when you take your medication. If you stay here, then you'll have around-the-clock professional care that your family isn't equipped to give you. You'll have frequent therapy that you can't get in your home town."

Sam shook his head. "I'm not staying here."

"Sam," the doctor said gently, she stood up and steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. "You would be safe here. You would be free to move around the facility, no one will lock you in a room or tie you down, you'll be welcome to wear your own clothes, bring your aid dog, your family can visit every day. It would only be for a few weeks."

"I said no," Sam bit out. He glared at her. "I'm finished; I want to go now."

The doctor sighed, nodding. "Okay," she said, "It was a suggestion, I'll talk to your family about better home-care and I'll be in contact with your family doctor in your town. But, please, Sam, just consider the in-patient program." she leaned over her desk and picked up a pamphlet, handing it over, "Read through this and see what you think."

Sam glanced down at the paper, grimacing at the happy faces of the in-patients on the front. "Sure," he agreed, already heading for the door, "See you later."

He didn't wait for a reply, letting the door fall shut behind him. Dean glanced up at him from where he was sitting in a waiting room chair, flicking through a gardening magazine. He tossed it aside and waited for Sam to sit next to him.

"How was it?" he asked, "You were in there for a while."

"S'alright," Sam shrugged.

"So…" Dean trailed off, shifting uncomfortably, "Did she suggest anything?"

Sam shrugged again.

"Like staying here in the hospital?" Dean went on.

Sam looked at him, frowning. "Back off, Dean," he hissed.

 _I told you he wanted to lock you up. He'll tighten the straightjacket himself._

 _Stop him before he locks you up. You know how to do it._

 _He only wants to help._

Paranoid. Mean. Helper. All of them came out to play today. Sam glared at Dean and shook his head, disbelieving. No wonder Dean was shifting in his seat, he'd been sitting on those words all day, no doubt. Somewhere in the building, Sam could still feel someone crying. He blinked and turned to Dean.

"Where's Dad?"

"He went to get coffee, he'll be back…" he paused, looking over to the door, "Oh, there he is. Hey, Dad!"

John walked over and handed a paper cup of coffee to Dean, sipping his own. "How was it, Sammy?" he asked, sitting beside him, "What did they say?"

Sam opened him mouth and he was about to speak when the doctor opened her door. "Mr Winchester," she called, "Can we speak a moment?"

His dad nodded and headed over, the doctor smiled at Sam before shutting the door behind them. Sam sighed and sank back into his seat. He felt that same feeling tug at his gut again, someone was crying, in more pain than anyone else. He found himself getting to his feet.

"Where're you going?" Dean asked suspiciously.

"Gotta pee," Sam lied, "I'll be right back."

He hurried one he'd turned the corner, tossing the pamphlet into the nearest trash can once he was out of sight. He followed the feeling all the way to the next floor. No one paid him much mind, or even seemed bothered that he had a dog with him, so he kept walking. He heard her before he saw her, and that feeling of sadness was welling up the closer he got. He stepped forward slowly and knocked on an open door.

The girl inside didn't answer him or even look over to acknowledge him. She lay in bed, curled on her side, sobbing into her pillow. Sam entered the room. There were two beds; the unoccupied bed was neatly made, photos and drawings decorated the walls, a couple of books sat on the bedside table. The girl's side of the room was bare, a suitcase sat unopened on the drawers.

"Hello," Sam called softly, he sat down on the empty bed. The girl peaked an eye open and looked at him with tear-filled eyes. She didn't say anything. "What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"I want to go home," the girl whispered, "I miss my mom."

Sam nodded. "She probably misses you, too," he said, "But maybe you're here for a reason."

"They say I'm sick," she said, wiping at her eyes, she turned to face him, "There's nothing wrong with me."

"Because there's nothing wrong with being sick, you can't help it," Sam said, "What's your diagnosis? Not the long doctor one."

"I'm sad," the girl admitted, "All the time. And I… I just want it to be over."

Sam nodded. "I get it. It must suck, I mean, it _does_ suck. But you're still you, you just need to get better, and maybe it'll help you to be here."

 _Hypocrite. You'd never let them put you in here._

 _Why are you lying to her?_

 _You're just trying to help._

Sam blinked. The girl was staring at him. "Are you sick too?" she asked.

Sam shrugged. "Apparently."

"Are you going to live here too?"

"I don't want to," Sam admitted, "But one day I might not have a choice. I guess that's how it is."

She nodded, seeming to understand. Then her gaze went to Clem. "Can I pet your dog?" she asked timidly.

Sam smiled. "Sure," he said, "Her name is Clementine."

"Like the fruit?" the girl asked. Sam nodded with a smile and nudged the dog over. Hesitantly, the girl reached out and brushed her fingers over Clem's head. The she did it again, with more enthusiasm.

"I have a dog at home, I miss him too," she said glumly.

"You'll see them again," Sam promised, "Your mom and your dog."

"I don't know if I can look at my mom, not after what I tried to do," the girl whispered, "She probably hates me."

Sam frowned. "I don't think your mom could ever hate you. I mean, I don't know her, but I'm sure you're only here because she loves you, you know? She wants you to be happy again."

"I don't know if I can be happy again," the girl admitted sadly, "I want to be but I don't know if I can."

"You will be," Sam promised. "I can feel how sad you are… but that's not all you are. Sadness isn't all of you."

The girl frowned at him. Sam handed her Clem's leash and leaned over to pick up the book on the bedside table. "Can you keep a secret?" he asked her. She nodded. "I'm going to show you a trick."

She sat up and leaned forward, watching. Sam held his arms out straight, holding the book on the flat of palms, he took a breath and concentrated. Slowly, the book raised about three inches above his hands. The girl gasped. Sam concentrated harder and the book opened, the pages flickered and stopped where the book mark lay, then with a last nudge he managed to close the book and guide it back to the table. It missed the surface and landed in a heap on the floor. Sam sighed and scooped it up, putting it back.

"I'm still working on it," he told her. The girl gaped at him.

"How did you do that?" she gasped, "That was amazing, are you a magician or something?"

Sam smiled. "Or something," he agreed. "That's my biggest secret in the world and I'm giving it to you."

 _Are you insane? Who knows what she might be! She could be a demon!_

 _Kill her. Don't let her kill you._

 _She's just a sad girl. He's helping._

"Thank you," the girl said, "for showing me. And… for talking to me. No one really talks to me like a normal person, not even my roommate but she's not very nice anyway."

"She's probably hurting too," Sam shrugged, "Just doesn't know how to deal with it. Maybe give her a break? And yourself?"

"You too," the girl said, her lip curled ever so slightly, an almost smile. "Thanks."

A nurse appeared in the doorway, she paused at the sight of Sam. "Are you supposed to be on this ward, young man?" she asked.

Sam shook his head sheepishly. "Don't think so," he admitted. "I'm going."

He took back Clem's leash and got to his feet. "I hope you feel better, girl," he said.

"I hope you feel better, boy," she replied. The nurse was glancing at them both with her eyebrows raised. She stood back to let Sam by, then hurried to catch up with him.

"Excuse me, young man, what was your name?"

"Uh, Sam."

"Well, Sam, Daisy there has been here three days and not once has she gotten out of bed, or talked to anyone. I don't know what you said but I swear I saw her smile, even just a little," the nurse breathed.

Sam shrugged. "Maybe she just feels like she's crazy and she needed someone to tell her she wasn't, I don't know," he said. He looked back to the door, he could still feel her sadness, the looming blackness that hung over her, "Look after her?"

The nurse smiled. "Of course," she said, "Maybe visit her sometime? I think she'd appreciate it."

Sam smiled back. "I'd like that," he agreed, he waved and hurried back to find Dean. His dad was there when he got back to the waiting area.

"Jeez, Sammy," Dean sighed. "I was about to send out a search party."

"I'm fine," Sam assured.

"You can come home," his dad said, "But we're keeping a close eye, alright? And we'll be right back here if anything else happens."

"Got it," Sam promised.

In the back seat of the Impala, as his father pulled out of the parking lot, Sam looked up at the hospital, searching for where Daisy's room might be. He prayed, hands clasped over the back seat.

 _Make her better, amen._

* * *

 _16_ _th_ _March 2003_

Sam lay on his bed, eyes closed, book open on his chest. He was so tired, he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, he felt himself drifting…

A sharp knock on his window jolted him back to wakefulness. Sam sat up straight, rubbing his eyes. His vision cleared and he peered out the window, smiling when he noticed who it was.

"Rachel!" he exclaimed. He got up and opened the window. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you, stupid," she said, smacking him gently in the arm. "I haven't seen you since the bar, I wanted to see if you're okay."

"I'm fine," Sam said, frowning, "Where have you been?"

"Around," she said, shrugging, "Looking for a place to stay instead of the motel."

Sam was very tempted to suggest she stay with him but he managed to hold his tongue.

"So, are you free?" she asked, glancing around his room, "I thought we could hang out."

Sam blinked, feeling his chest flutter. "Um, yeah, I'm free," he tried to sound casual.

Rachel grinned. "Come on, then," she said, gesturing for him to climb out of the window.

Sam glanced over to his closed door. "Um, I'm not supposed to go out on my own," he said softly, almost hoping she wouldn't hear.

"You're not on your own, you're with me."

"But, I – "

"Sam, you're nineteen, right?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Then you're an adult who can make his own decisions. What do you _want_ to do?"

"I want to go with you," Sam admitted, his cheeks flushed. Rachel held out her hand, Sam took it. He glanced back to where Clem was watching him from her spot on the rug. He climbed out the window hurriedly and closed the window before the dog could follow him. She pawed at the glass, huffing.

"Don't lock yourself up all the time, Sam," Rachel advised, "Make your own life."

Sam nodded. It was good advice. "I'm making my own life," he agreed, following her down the street. She didn't let go of his hand until they made it to her car. He quickly wiped his clammy hand on his jeans once she let go and climbed into the passenger seat.

 _She's pretty, Sammy, I bet you want to fuck her._

 _She's nice._

 _Don't trust her, she'll hurt you._

 _Fuck her hard._

Sam clenched his eyes shut and turned to the window. When he opened his eyes, the streets were flitting by. He glanced at Rachel.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Not far, don't worry," she said, smiling at him. "Just a little adventure."

Sam nodded. He could go on an adventure, if Rachel wanted him to.

"So, what have you been doing?" she asked. "Life must be pretty boring when I'm not around, huh?"

"I've kinda been under house-arrest," Sam said, glancing at his restless fingers. "I hate it. Then my brother gets mad at me for stuff I didn't even do and he doesn't listen when I try to explain it. And then they drag me into the city to talk to a shrink and they want me to stay at the hospital because they think I'm crazy…"

He trailed off, daring to look over to the driver's seat. He hadn't meant to say so much and now Rachel was going to freak out because he _was a freak_. Instead, Rachel nodded.

"Hospital, huh?" she said, "That sucks. If I'm honest with you, Sam, you seem pretty sane to me. And screw anyone who says otherwise, that's what I say."

Sam blinked at her, feeling a warmth in his chest, her words meant a lot and… and Sam thought maybe he was falling in love. Is that what love felt like? Sam knew what almost every emotion felt like but this one was very new.

She pulled off onto a small dirt road. Sam recognised this place, it was the old abandoned barn on the edge of town. She parked the car and got out, Sam hurried to follow.

"Why are we here?" he asked.

Rachel stopped by the barn door, waiting for Sam to catch up. "This is the first place _you_ kissed _me,_ " she said, taking his hand, "Before then I thought maybe you weren't interested."

"I am," Sam insisted, he couldn't stop staring at her, "I really like you. A lot."

 _Kiss her. Fuck her._

 _Be sweet, say something nice._

 _Run. Run away._

Sam kissed her. He got lost in it and when she pulled away he felt dazed.

"Do you like me, Sam?" she asked. He nodded. "Do you want to be with me?"

"Anything," Sam promised, "You're the only one who listens to me."

"Be with me, Sam," she said, "Need me."

Sam let her tug his shirt off.

* * *

Sam kept his eyes closed when he woke, smiling when he felt the warm body tucked next to his shift. He tightened his arms around her, dipping to bury his nose in her hair. Fingers brushed at his cheek and he opened his eyes.

"Hey," Rachel whispered.

"Hello," Sam said back, smiling. The mounds of hay beneath him were scratching his bare skin but he didn't care, his whole body was still thrumming happily.

"Did you… have fun?" Rachel asked, blushing.

"Definitely," Sam said, twirling a lock of her hair between his fingers. "I think I'm in love with you," he whispered to himself. He ground his teeth together to stop any other word from escaping.

"How sweet," Rachel said, smiling, tugging on a strand of his hair gently. "Maybe next time we could go all the way... Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm probably going to move out of town, someday soon."

Sam's smile dropped. "Oh."

"Maybe you could come with me," she suggested. Sam looked up, surprised. "If you wanted to. I'd like if you did, Sam."

"I'd like that," Sam found himself saying.

 _Dean and Dad lie to you. You can't trust them._

 _They love you. You don't know her._

 _Get away from her! Get away now!_

 _Go with her!_

Sam sat up straight, grabbing his shirt to cover himself. "I mean, I don't know," he admitted, "I really like you but – "

He paused, hearing tires skidding from far away. The sound got closer, followed by headlights streaming through cracks in the barn's panelling. Sam averted his eyes from the brightness of it, scurrying to grab his jeans. He managed to scramble into them before the barn doors flew open.

Sam could barely see who it was, only the shapes of their silhouettes against the headlights. He took a protective stance in front of Rachel. Behind him, she yanked her dress over her head. He scanned the barn; there was some heavy equipment, old and rusted, but he'd never be able to use his telekinesis to move it. He wasn't strong enough.

Once, his father would never have let him leave their motel room without a knife. Now, Sam couldn't even butter his toast without someone supervising him. He wished he had something to protect Rachel with.

But when he realised who had entered the barn, he froze.

"Dean? Dad?" he choked out, suddenly feeling very aware of his semi-nakedness. He folded his arms self-consciously over his bare chest. "I, uh, sorry I left without – "

"Move out of the way, Sam," John growled, stepping forward, raising his gun. Dean stood next to him with a bottle of holy water in hand. They looked angry, fearsome, but Sam could feel their fear. It was rolling off them in waves, filling the room enough to take Sam's breath away.

Sam didn't move. He stared down the barrel of the gun. "Don't hurt her!"

"She's not what you think she is," John said, glaring over Sam's shoulder. "We found sulphur in your room, followed the signs here."

"You've got it wrong!"

"Sam, what's going on?" Rachel asked fearfully from behind.

"Please, Dad, she's human," Sam insisted. Dean barged forward, shouldering Sam out of the way. Rachel scrambled to get up but Dean flicked out the bottle, covering her in holy water. Smoke rolled off of her and she shrieked, eyes filling with black.

Sam stumbled back, tripped and landed in a thud behind his father, too shocked to move to stand up.

"It's too late for Sammy anyway," the demon growled "My daddy's been after him since he was still latched onto his mommy's tits. My daddy already warned the kid but he's been too busy banging my meat-suit. I think it proves he's one of us, don't it?"

The demon laughed and Sam curled in on himself.

"All this time?" Sam asked, finding his voice, holding back a sob.

The demon looked down at him and smiled. "Oh baby, I picked out this hot little body just for you. You know she's an Ivy league girl?"

"That's enough!" John barked. Dean flicked more holy water at the demon and John began to recite the exorcism, ignoring the way the demon screamed. She threw out her arms and John and Dean went flying backwards, landing with in heaps. The two of them tried to get up but they couldn't move.

 _Kill the bitch!_

 _That poor innocent girl! What have you done?_

 _I told you to run away from her!_

The demon turned to Sam. He tried to scramble away but she curled her fist and Sam found he couldn't move. "You know, you could crush me into the dirt if you really wanted to," she said, "You can do more than levitate a book three feet of the ground… that's right, I've been keeping an eye on you. If you really try, you could rule the world."

"Why did you do this?" Sam asked.

"Because you're the horse I'm betting on, Sammy," the demon said. "You're my daddy's favourite. You're his, always have been, my little brother."

"That's not true!"

"Believe what you want, kid," the demon shrugged. "But you can bet we'll see each other again. _Brother._ "

The demon grinned and tipped her head back. A flood of black smoke poured from the host's mouth, tearing a scream along with it, winding its way out of the barn and into the night. The girl dropped and didn't get up. John and Dean managed to get to their feet. Sam watched his dad hurry forward.

"She's alive," he announced feeling her pulse. He leaned forward and tried to rouse her.

"Sammy?" Dean was standing over him, brow creased with worry. "I'm so sorry, Sammy. Are you okay?"

Sam shook his head frantically. Dean held out his hand but Sam didn't think he could hold his own weight if he stood up. Beyond, he saw the girl sit up unsteadily, then burst into tears and press herself into John's arms as if he were her own father.

"It's been weeks," she cried, shoulders shaking. "I was on my way to the store, then I couldn't move or talk and I could hear it speaking to me in my head!"

Sam clambered onto his hands and knees and crawled forward. "I'm so sorry, so sorry, sorry is me," he rambled frantically, "I didn't know, didn't know, little doe."

She stared at him, breathing heavily. Her lip trembled and she looked away, pressing into John. "Please, sir, help me get home," she sobbed. Sam backed away and curled up, burying his head in his hands.

"I didn't know," he cried. "I swear, I didn't know."

"Shhhh. Sammy," Dean placed a hand on his shoulder, gripping gently. "I know you didn't. Come on, come with me."

Sam let him guide him to his feet and hold him steady as they stumbled out of the barn and over to the Impala. He shivered, his bare chest and arms exposed to the cool evening air. He felt Dean's leather jacket wrap around his shoulders and he hugged it tight, letting Dean gently push him into the passenger seat.

Sam watched their dad escort the girl, he wasn't sure of her real name, out of the barn. She was shivering and sobbing, wrapped in John's jacket. He took her to the car the demon drove Sam over in and settled her into the passenger seat. He jogged over to the Impala and spoke with Dean by the hood. Sam pressed his forehead to the window's glass, closed his eyes and listened.

"I'm going to get her home," John said. "You watch out for Sammy, okay?"

"Yes, sir," Dean replied. He dropped his voice, glancing back at Sam briefly. "Dad, I don't know how Sammy will deal with this."

"Look after him, Dean. We'll figure it out."

"This is different. He's going to think it was his fault, he'll think he… forced himself on her without her consent."

"Make sure he knows that's not true," John said, then paused, "Look, I should get going, get her to her parents. I don't know how long I'll be but I'll call you in a few hours."

"Yes, sir."

John walked away, Sam and Dean watched. Dean didn't move until the other car was out of sight, then he climbed in behind the wheel. He turned the key in the ignition and let the engine rumble, but the car didn't move. He turned to Sam.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he said clearly.

Sam shook his head. "The girl, she was stuck in there, and she never wanted what-what I did to her," Sam said. His lip trembled but he couldn't hold the sob in. Dean gently patted his shoulder.

"You didn't know what was happening, Sam," Dean said, "You didn't know it was a demon. You're as much of a victim as the girl was. Neither of you wanted this. It's the demon that did this to both of you."

"They did this because I didn't do what they wanted, or because they want me to do what they want…" Sam whispered. He clenched his eyes shut and turned away, choking out a sob. "They're not done with me yet."

"'They'? Who's 'they'? Do you mean demons?"

Sam shivered, pulling the leather jacket around himself tighter. "I don't have a choice," he whispered. "I have to do what he wants or more people will get hurt. Everything will burn, I'll choke on my own blood, I'll never be the same again."

* * *

A/N I've been a little nervous about this chapter, considering what the demon did to Sam and its host. They did not have full intercourse, but they did engage in sexual activities and that, in my mind, is counted as sexual assault against both Sam and the human host. Demons can be very sexual and abusive in the show, they're twisted. And the show itself has dealt with sexual abuse and rape. It's pretty dark stuff but I thought it would be a way to shock Sam into realising how close the demons really are and he'll be less likely to trust anyone than he already was.

I really don't want to upset anyone by writing the story this way, but the Sam I Am 'verse has been dark all the way through.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Reviews fuel the writers confidence, I assure you.


	9. Splinter

It's be sooo long, I know! I hope that not too many of you have forgotten about this story. Despite having the story plan all written out, I lost some inspiration to actually write the story, but I'm back at it now! Hopefully, I can keep this going.

* * *

 _16_ _th_ _March 2003_

Sam was stiff and silent the whole way back home. He hunched in his seat, fingers like claws clinging to his hair, his back rose up and down heavily with quietly controlled panic. Dean watched him from the corner of his eye and drove.

He could hear Sam's panicked whispers to himself, the way he seemed to discuss something urgent with someone who wasn't there. Dean took a deep breath and focused on steering them home.

Their street was quiet, windows dimly lit and cosy. Dean pulled into their driveway and stopped. He didn't move, neither did Sam. With the engine cut, he could hear his brother more clearly.

"I didn't know. I didn't _know_. I swear I didn't. Stop saying that. I didn't do that; I would never do that! Just leave me alone!" Sam hissed. He was curled forward, face hidden, head ducked between his arms.

"Sam," Dean said softly. Sam didn't budge, didn't stop talking to himself. "Sammy."

"I hurt her, I hurt her, I hurt her – "

He reached out and carefully placed his hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam jerked, head shooting up. He stared at Dean, eyes wide like a spooked horse. He opened his mouth, his lip trembled, but he didn't say anything.

"Sam, we're going inside now," Dean said softly. Hesitantly, Sam nodded and began to uncurl himself from his seat, his too-long legs getting caught under the dashboard.

Dean kept his grip on Sam from the car to the front door. His brother was trembling, nearly tripped on a cracked paving stone, and Dean held him firmly by the waist to keep him upright.

Clem was waiting for them, scratching on the door from the inside as Dean unlocked it and let them in. She bounded on them, jumping up on Sam, sniffing at him, tongue lolling happily. Sam gently nudged her away and headed quietly down the corridor, his shoulders began to shake heavily with sobs once he reached his door. Clementine cocked her head to the side, confused, and she trotted down the hall after him, tail wagging.

"Clem," Dean called her back. She paused outside Sam's room, confused, then made her way back over to Dean. He crouched down and patted her back. "Sammy's not doing so good, okay? He's not up for playing with you. You gotta work your magic and keep an eye on him…"

She blinked and sniffed, staring at him.

"…and you have no idea what I'm saying," Dean finished with a sigh. He stroked her behind the ears and stood back up, following Sam's footsteps down the hall.

He knew where he'd find his brother before he entered the room. The bed was empty and there was a pair of bare feet poking out from underneath the frame. Clem hurried past him and stuck her head under, nuzzling around. Dean lay himself down beside her and looked at Sam's tear-streaked face.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, voice thick and strained.

"Sammy, it's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong," Dean sighed.

"I hurt her," Sam protested. "She didn't want it."

"Neither did you," Dean said. "You didn't know about the demon. You didn't want this either. The demon is to blame. Not you."

"It still happened," Sam sobbed. "Even if I didn't know, I still did it."

"No, Sam," Dean told him softly. "You didn't do this. Believe me."

Sam didn't look at him. He pressed his cheek harder against the carpet and squeezed his eyes shut as a few tears escaped. "I'm just like them," he croaked.

Clementine huffed unhappily next to Dean, pushing her nose a little further under the bed until her wet snout touched Sam's hand. Dean swallowed, took a deep breath.

"Like who?" he asked.

" _Them_ ," Sam hissed. He gulped and let out another sob. "The ones who – they took me. They cracked me open and rearranged me from the inside out. They… they did it over and over and over again. And they never once asked me if I wanted it. They never asked. Dean, she didn't ask for it."

Dean scrubbed a hand over his mouth. "Jesus. Fuck," he swore. He reached under the bed and took a firm hold of Sam's shaking shoulder. His brother was crying breathlessly now and Dean held on to him, feeling Sam's bony arm under his hand, gripping onto him like he might have vanished if he blinked.

"Sammy, you need to listen to me right now," he said. He shook Sam's shoulder a little to make sure he had his attention. Sam looked at him reluctantly, hands creeping up to cover his face. "Listen, okay? The girl, the one the demon was possessing, she didn't ask for this. She didn't ask to be taken from her home, or for her body to be taken from her. But, Sam. You didn't ask to be tricked like this. You didn't know it was a demon, you didn't want to do any of that with a demon. You and that girl, you're both the victims here."

Sam wiped at his eyes, gaze becoming distant. He stared blankly over Dean's shoulder. After a moment, he said, "I don't understand."

Dean sighed. "You're not to blame, Sammy. That's the truth."

"It's – no, I don't mean that."

"Sam?"

Sam squeezed his eyes closed, a lone tear making its way down his cheek, across his nose. "Why me?" he asked.

* * *

It all felt too familiar to John. Too often he'd had a traumatised civilian in his passenger seat, shock-white and trembling, their life flipped upside down in mere minutes. It had been a long time since he'd been so close to that world, to the things out there that killed his wife and so many other innocent people.

How many people had died since they had stopped hunting?

Beside him, the girl was crying. She would barely look at him, hadn't said another word to him since she had told him her address. She came from the same state, a few towns over. One moment, she'd been herself and the next she hadn't.

A sign announcing the girl's home town flew past like a blur of ink as he drove down the highway.

"We're almost there," John said quietly. Beside him, the girl nodded stiffly. He cleared his throat. "I never got your name… your real name."

"It's Rachel," she sniffed. "That thing… it didn't bother changing it."

"Do you know how long you were possessed?" John asked. Rachel flinched at the very word like she'd been struck by a whip. She pulled John's jacket tighter around herself and dropped her gaze.

"It was February 25th last I remember," she said, voice dull. "I was going to the store. It was my boyfriend's birthday the week after. I missed his birthday... Oh, god. What do I tell him?"

John didn't know the answer to that. Instead, he said, "Sam didn't know."

She looked at him then. "Sam's your son," she said. John nodded. Rachel cleared her throat. "The thing… the _demon_ , it said a lot of things about him. It said he's one of them, that he'll bring on the end of the world one day. It wouldn't shut up about it."

"I know," John admitted. "I've known for a long time about Sam. The demons, they did something to him when he was only little. I don't know everything, but I know they want to use him to do terrible things."

Rachel pursed her lips. "I saw everything. I was awake the whole time. I saw Sam and I didn't think he seemed like a monster. He seemed… innocent, maybe."

"He is," John agreed.

"He just seemed like a kid that wanted to be like everyone else," she said. "I was screaming at him, begging him to notice something was wrong."

"Sam has been through a lot," John sighed. "It's complicated. I just want you to understand that Sam never would have done what he did if he knew."

"I know," Rachel said quietly. "And I wish I could have stopped the demon from doing that to him. To both of us."

John slowed the truck down as he steered off the highway. They drove for a few minutes before houses started appearing on both sides. He followed her instructions and they found their way to a suburban neighbourhood. Between them, the air was stiff and heavy with agony. They stopped outside a small house with blue shutters, the windows in the front room were lit warmly.

"This the right place?" John checked. Rachel's mouth opened wordlessly and she nodded.

"It looks the same," she said. "I don't know, maybe I expected… It's like I never left."

"It's been a while," John pointed out. "No doubt they're still looking for you, waiting for you to come back, but they still have to try to get on with life. They'd go insane otherwise."

Rachel nodded again, eyes wide as she stared at her home.

They sat for a long moment in silence, then Rachel leaned over and opened the truck door. She slipped out of his jacket and handed it back.

"Keep it," he offered. "It's cold out."

"I don't want it," she answered briskly. She hopped out and dropped it on the empty seat. "Please. I don't want any memory of this."

John nodded, understanding. Rachel paused as she began to close the door.

"Make sure he knows it's not his fault," she said quietly. "Tell Sam he didn't do anything wrong."

Not once did she look John in the eye as she spoke. The girl was still shivering, and not just from the cold. John sighed and pulled a notepad and pen from his glovebox. He quickly scribbled down a name and a number and ripped it out, handing it over. She took it hesitantly, frowning down at it.

"Who's Bobby Singer?" she asked.

"If you ever suspect something like this is happening again, you call him and he'll make sure there's someone to help," John explained. "Or maybe you just want to know more about what happened, he can help you. In the meantime, salt is a repellent for dark things. If you want to keep yourself protected, make a line of salt at your doors and windows. Keep some salt on you, too."

She clutched the paper to her chest. Her face was pale and streaked with dry tears. She finally looked at him.

"Thank you," she said. "And tell Sam… tell him I hope things get better for him."

John nodded gratefully. "Look after yourself."

"Look after Sam," she answered. "I don't think there's anything good coming his way. The things that demon said… it's frightening."

John paused and removed his key from the ignition. "Rachel, would you mind talking to me for a moment. I need to know everything the demon said to you. I know you want to get inside and see your family but… this is about my family."

She blinked at him, then nodded. She hopped back into the truck.

* * *

 _I told you. You couldn't trust her. You're an idiot._

 _Look what you did! You monster!_

 _You liked it, you dirty dog. Didn't you?_

 _It wasn't your fault._

 _It was._

"Shut up."

 _How long are you going to hide from this? Pathetic._

 _Think of what the demon said._

 _Dirty, filthy, scum._

"Shut up!"

Sam opened his eyes. Clementine was sprawled out on the carpet next to the bed, half-asleep. She blinked one eye open and stared at him. She rolled onto her stomach and shuffled closer, whining, trying to lick away his troubles. There was whispering in his ears, soft voices saying the same things over and over. He could almost feel someone's breath on his skin. Sam clenched his jaw and tried to ignore it.

 _You're one of them. A demon._

"Stop."

Sam crawled out from under the bed, shuffled until his back connected with the wall. Clem barked once and hopped up onto his bed, looking down at him, reaching out with her snout, sniffing, checking what was wrong.

 _You know the truth. You're one of them. You're evil._

"Stop!" Sam cried, slamming his hands over his ears, eyes squeezing shut. For a second, he felt weightless, detaching himself from his body, a balloon with its string cut, floating away. It was _quiet_. The voices were silent. He was in the eye of the storm.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

His bed was hovering a meter above the carpet. Clementine had retreated to the centre of the mattress, yelping pitifully. Sam managed to pull himself up to his feet with the wall for support and he stepped over and held out his arms, picking Clem up. She squeaked, her tail between her legs. Eyes on the bed, she growled.

Sam stared at it, mouth hanging open.

He let out a breath in a rush and the bed crashed back to the floor, the legs of the frame splintering with the impact. Shattered bones. The sudden noise spooked Clem even further and she wiggled out of his arms and planted herself behind his legs.

"Sorry, girl," Sam said, breathless.

In the next second, Dean came slamming through the door, stumbling, frantic eyes searching for the danger. His gaze fell on Sam.

"What happened?" he asked worriedly, arms already reaching out, hands checking Sam over.

Sam couldn't tear his eyes away from the bed. That splintered carcass he'd made. "I – I'm fine…"

Dean frowned, he turned and followed Sam's gaze. "What? What are you looking at?" He asked. He was beginning to sound even more freaked out, voice going higher with each word. He turned back to Sam and his face pinched with alarm. "Woah. You're bleeding."

Sam frowned.

It was warm and wet on his upper lip. When he probed with his fingers, they came away bloody. Dean winced and took a hold of Sam's shoulder, directing him out into the hallway and over to the bathroom. He pushed Sam down to sit on the closed toilet seat and grabbed a handful of toilet roll, bunching it up and pressing it under Sam's nose.

"It's bleeding pretty heavy," Dean said. He peeled the paper back and sighed, grabbing more to replace the soaked tissue. He looked at Sam, brows pinched worriedly. "What happened?"

Sam shrugged. "It just started bleeding. Drip, drop," he said, voice muffled and clogged. Sam glanced downwards. He could feel Dean's eyes on him, silent and judging. His nose was warm and the blood wasn't letting up. Sam thought, Jesus turned water into wine and water is always flowing and –

There was a rustling sound and Sam looked up to find his brother standing at the sink, opening his pill bottles and reading the labels. Little blue and white soldiers standing to attention in Dean's hand. One soldier, two soldiers, three soldiers…

"It's all the right amount," Sam promised. "I haven't taken any more than I should. I count them all myself, to make sure."

Dean sighed. "I know." Sam knew he didn't mean it. "I'm just checking for side effects. It's not normal to suddenly get a nosebleed this heavy," he turned to look at Sam, "unless it didn't happen on its own."

Sam frowned. "I – I don't know. It just happened. Rivers run free."

"Sam," Dean sighed. "I heard a really loud crash coming from your room. Next thing, you're bleeding. I'm not mad at you, but… did you do this?"

"What? I didn't do anything – "

 _That's a lie. You certainly did_ something.

"Shut up."

"Sam?" Dean's voice snapped him back. His brother was looking at him with a look on his face that Sam really wished he hadn't put there. His brother should never look that afraid.

"It's nothing," Sam insisted. _Lied. Filthy liar._ He cleared his throat and hesitantly pulled the tissue away from his face. He felt no fresh blood on his upper lip and he smiled. "See? She sells seashells."

Dean sighed. "You're still a mess. One second."

He grabbed a cloth and ran it under warm water. Sam sat still as his brother bent down and scrubbed gently at his bloody face.

"You promise you didn't hurt yourself?" Dean said quietly.

"Promise," Sam whispered. He glanced down to the cool tiles beneath his feet. There were twenty-seven in this room, three had cracks on them, Sam had tripled checked. Step on the crack and you'd break your mother's back. Luckily, Sam didn't have a mother.

"Okay," Dean relented. "But you're gonna tell me what made that crashing sound."

"Clem," Sam said quickly. The one in question sat in the doorway, she lifted her head and stared at him. _We both know that's not true,_ she seemed to say.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. She got fright. She's a scaredy-cat, you know that."

"It was a big crash," Dean pointed out. "Clem's not that big of a dog."

Sam's fingers ticked and he tucked them into his sleeves. "I'm tired," he said. "I want to go to bed."

Dean's eyes narrowed. After a moment, he softened and rubbed his hand across Sam's shoulder. "Okay," he said. "Get some sleep and we'll talk in the morning."

Sam stood up and shrugged off Dean's hand. "Chatterbox, no need to pry. Open up."

Dean just stared at him and Sam thought maybe he wasn't making much sense anymore. His brother stood silently and watched Sam take his medication, brush his teeth, and wash his face. Then, he followed behind Sam to the bedroom. At least he gave Sam some privacy to change into his pyjamas. He turned back as Sam climbed into bed, luckily the frame was still holding steady.

Sam glanced down at the splintered legs. Dean still hadn't noticed.

Dean just grabbed the back of Sam's desk chair and dragged it across the carpet. He sat down at the bedside.

"You didn't do anything wrong today," he said. "You don't need to be punished for anything. Sammy, please don't – "

"I didn't do anything," Sam cut him off before he could say anything more. Clementine hopped up onto the bed and settled herself at Sam's side. Dean stayed for a moment longer, not saying a word. With a relenting sigh, he got to his feet, leaned over to stroke Clem, then he bid Sam goodnight.

He left the door slightly open and Sam knew his brother wouldn't be sleeping that night either.

 _Supernatural freak._

 _There's something wrong with you. Something dark._

 _Just tell them the truth._

Sam thought, _they would hate me_. If he told them what he had learned to do, they would be afraid of him. Or they would go after the demon themselves and they wouldn't survive it. Sam couldn't stand either option. Sam didn't want to play the game, but maybe he didn't have another choice.

* * *

The clock ticked by, the hour hand creeping towards three in the morning. Dean sat at the kitchen table with a beer warming between his hands. He didn't feel like drinking it, he couldn't calm the panic he felt bubbling in his stomach.

John still hadn't called. He wasn't answering his cell either.

Dean checked in on Sam every half hour, just to make sure he was still there. Sam was sleeping, he thought, or he was hiding under the covers. But he was safe, that was what mattered.

It was almost thirty minutes past the hour when the phone finally rang. Dean lunged for it and grabbed the receiver.

"Dad?" he asked immediately.

"Yeah, Dean, it's me."

Dean let out a long sigh of relief. "Thank God. I was starting to worry."

"Don't worry about me. How's Sam?"

Dean glanced down the hall to Sam's bedroom door. The house was quiet. "He's not so great," Dean admits. "I think maybe he hurt himself. Intentionally."

His father cursed on the other end of the line. "Keep a close eye on him. Call someone in to help if you need it. Bobby, maybe."

Dean paused and frowned. "Wait. You're coming back, right?"

John sighed. "Not yet. There's something I need to do."

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"I'll talk to you when I get back, okay? Look after your brother."

Dean clenched his jaw. "No. No way. You are not doing this. You are not running off without explaining. Sam, _your son_ , needs you right now. We left all this crap behind, remember?"

"Dean, it's complicated."

"If you do this, I swear to god – "

"I know you're mad," John said softly, "but this is important. I wouldn't do this if it weren't important, okay? Take care of Sammy."

"Wait, Dad – "

The line cut off. Dean stood for a moment, the phone clenched in his hand. How could Dean have been so stupid? Did he really believe his father would give up the hunt permanently? Finally, the anger bubbled up to the surface and he hurled the phone across the room where is smashed against the wall, pieces of wire and plastic exploded in all directions.

He stood there, chest heaving, breathless, and Sam walked into the room, blinking tiredly. He looked at Dean, then at the shattered phone.

He narrowed his eyes. "What happened?" he asked.

"Nothing," Dean sighed.

"Did you smash the phone? Why?"

Dean shrugged. "Clem did it?"

Sam burst out laughing. Dean was tired, furious, worried, but he couldn't help but laugh, too.

* * *

Thank you to everyone who's been patient and stuck with this story! Reviews are much appreciated by the author.


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